Lord of the Mists
by Elithanathile
Summary: The biography of the 8th Campione, as written by his majesty himself, regaling the tale of his journey from a lone wolf into one of the most feared men of all time, and ruler of the Kingdom of Australia. OC!Main Character. Unwilling pseudo-harem. Avoiding Mass-destruction Authorities. T rated, and will stay that way.
1. In Which I Do Something Really Stupid

AN: Alrighty guys, for those of you who hadn't noticed, just a few days ago was Christmas, so I haven't been writing as much, but I wanted to try and keep up the relatively quick updates speeds, so while I'm still working on the next chapter of I'm Not a Protagonist, I've got this for you instead.

So this is kinda going to be one of those Campione OC fics, and I'd probably say the main difference with this one is just that instead of starting with a harem and abilities that demolish building every time they get used, (Looking at you, Godou.) this MC has to gain his eventually. That said, this is probably going to be some kind of Harem, as that is a huge part of the Campione feel. The majority of the series is either harem comedy, or it's replaced by action. I enjoy the series, really, but I felt that the switches in tone were a bit much, so I'm going to try and tone that down somewhat in this.

And about the authorities, I know what they're going to be, and the next couple gods he's going to fight. I don't want to give any spoilers, but I will say that any that he gains, he's killing the god with his own ability, not just piggybacking off of the authority. That's one thing I wanted to have in the fic, a character who was cool _before_ they killed a god.

This one will probably be updated every week or two, since my main focus will still be on I'm Not a Protagonist. That said, if people do enjoy this one enough, I might switch more onto this one.

Enjoy!

Edit: Okay, thanks to some advice from reviewers, especially Flagarach, I have decided to rewrite the first chapter of Lord of the Mists, which is included below. I wrote this entirely from scratch, although I did try to expand it somewhat and add more detail. Some things are going to be different, but I hope that it's a better chapter overall. (Especially the fight scene, since I thought that was especially weak the first time around.)

I also would like to add that as of publishing this chapter, I have 5 followers, 5 favorites, 133 views, and it's even been added to one community! Thanks so much for everyone who has read this, and especially to those who have showed their appreciation by reviewing or following. It really does mean a lot to me, and I can probably have the next chapter of my other story up soon next week if any of you pay attention to that one too.

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Campione-verse, but I do find it an excellent setting to play around in.

* * *

 _Some days, you feel, "Wow, I feel awesome! I could take on the world and win!" and some days, you feel like, "Can everyone just die so I don't have to look at you?" Well, there's also days that start out just peachy, and then end up with screaming and lots of blood. I've had my share of those before, but if you're reading this, it's probably because you're interested in where it all started, so I'll start with that. But don't worry about those of you who were interested by my previous statement. There'll be plenty of time for flashbacks later. But I do want to start off this narrative with saying, no matter what people say, or what you've heard, on the inside, I'm just a selfish little boy, screaming for his mother not to leave him. People say I've_ _made kings to bow_ _,_ _killed gods_ _, and_ _pulled victory out of the jaws of death_ _. They're not wrong, but that doesn't mean they're right either. But enough "self-centered angst," as my sister would say. Let's begin, shall we…_

It was a warm summer day, on a small sailboat off of the coast of California. It was the kind of boat that you could find anywhere, dotting the ocean like bread-crumbs spread out for ducks. The type of boat that you could rent at the beach, and take for a nice float around the bay. Which is exactly what had happened.

"I'm king of the world!"

Inside this particular boat, a teenage girl, roughly 15 years old, was standing in the prow of the boat, spreading her arms wide as her shoulder-length brown hair fluttered in the wind, blue eyes shining with happiness. She was the one who had proclaimed the phrase, attempting to mimic a certain famous movie.

"Yeah, I got it. Now come down from there before you fall in. For being king of the world, you sure trip a lot around the house."

This came from another figure slightly farther back, who was tying a knot in the rigging, with long blonde hair in a ponytail and soft green eyes flecked with blue. Combined with a feminine face, this looked like a beautiful specimen of female beauty.

Naturally, this was me. Male. Yep. I get it a lot. My twin, Lhendia, was the overexcited one leaning over the ocean, who proceeded to throw a quick glare back in my direction, before getting a wicked glint in her eye.

"Well," she mused fakely, tapping a finger on her chin. "If I'm the king..." she paused, looking over at me out of the corner of her eye. "...wouldn't that make you the queen?"

She reflexively dodged the life preserver I threw, as it hit the side of the boat and bounced off. "Dang it Lhen! You know I don't like being called a girl!" I still had a few touchy points at this point in time, you'll notice.

Lhendia herself turned to face me fully, pouting, "But it fits you so well! You could probably use the women's restroom if you wanted, and nobody would notice!" She lunged to the left to dodge the next projectile, but I was still searching for something suitably painful.

Just as I had located a small bag of ballast to fling at my annoying sister, the last figure spoke up, my father, Gregory Meltriarc, who was currently seated at the opposite end of the boat, a fishing line loosely dangling in front of him while he perused a thick book on child psychology. I was pretty sure he'd brought it just as a jab to us.

"Please stop bickering, this is a beautiful day while we're on vacation, and I don't want to ruin it by having to dunk one of you two for taking it too far. Or for the boat to get lit on fire."

"It was _one time_! Could everyone please stop making it sound like it's a habit of mine!" My sister complained, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

"And Chaska," my father added, "No offense, but you make a better girl than your mother did."

"Dang it, Dad!"

I couldn't see fully from where I was seated by the mast, but I was pretty sure you couldn't read books from that close, and I could see his shoulders shaking.

My name is Chaska Evelin Meltriarc, future 8th campione, king of Australia, Lord of the Mists, and one of the most feared men of all time. Welcome to my life. Filled with teasing fathers and joking sisters. Don't worry, the gods and killing things comes later.

As I settled back down, still mumbling good-naturedly, I noticed that many of the boats that had previously been around us, gently navigating with the breeze seemed to have clumped together, and were just shy of the Farallon islands. I mentally shrugged and passed it off. I knew they weren't cleared for tourists, but there wasn't anything against just stopping by to take pictures of seals or something.

S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S

A few more hours of lounging around, sniping at each other and relaxing, and we were ready to head back to the beach for lunch. I idly noticed that the mini flotilla of boats was still flocked around the island, but still paid it no attention. It wasn't like it was illegal or anything, just discouraged, since it could disturb the natural wildlife.

Back at the hotel, we all took showers to clear the residue sea smell from ourselves, before heading out to an outdoor cafe for lunch, and in general, vacationing. Yes. That's totally a word.

Before we drifted off to sleep, we all gathered together in the large room that was my father's, and talked about what we had enjoyed, and what we hoped to do the next day. It was a little tradition we had, that had been in place since my mother was alive, and had just never stopped.

Afterwards, we separated, and after doing my nightly exercises and stretching, fell asleep, looking forward to the next few days.

Those days were a whirlwind of activities, ballgames, Alcatraz, food, and various museums, before we agreed to go boating one last time on the last day before going back. Now I realize that right now, it seems like I'm just describing my vacation, but patience. This is important.

So on that last day, floating back across the waves, I noticed what looked like the same group of sailboats, still perched around the Farallon Islands, but now in much more of a circle, and what looked like gleaming red ropes linking them in a broad area around the rocky landform.

"Hey guys, do you notice those boats? What do you think they're doing?" I voiced my curiosity, pointing, and my family gave their own remarks.

"Well, I suppose they might just be trying to get a good view of the islands," my father said, "but it is a little odd. Still, not our place to judge. It is a little strange that I hadn't noticed until you pointed it out, though."

Lhendia on the other hand, was thrilled at finding something odd. "Or, they could be part of some kind of cult, and are worshipping the islands!"

"Why would anyone worship an island?"

"I don't know! Isn't that what cults do?"

And it devolved into petty bickering pretty quick from there. Still, the thought of that rope clung to me. The others hadn't remarked on it, so I was pretty sure they couldn't actually see it. It wasn't the first time I'd had something like this happen.

I'd seen majestic figures wrapped in silks walking through crowds, but if I blinked, they would disappear. One time I'd followed a short bald man with a staff that had all the jingly rings on the end, but it didn't make any noise, even when it hit the ground. I'd followed him for a few minutes, until he reached the end of a road, where he turned back to me and smiled, before walking through the wall. Since then, I'd given up on paying attention to any of the delusions.

I'd told people of course, and it had been suggested that they were just imaginary friends, but it never sounded quite right to me. I'd felt some kind of pull towards them, as though I was magnetized. But I'd just given up on trying to explain it for a while, and so disregarded it now.

And so of course, I almost missed when the boats exploded. Of course, it was pretty hard to miss something like that, what with the blue flames and red rope dissolving. Honestly, it almost seemed like less of an explosion, and more like the ships simply caved inwards, before releasing the energy.

Either way, this didn't seem normal. And I was getting a really bad feeling about it. All three of us in the boat were standing now, looking over at the commotion. After a moment though, my father turned towards the sails, intent on sailing us closer to help rescue any survivors. He's awesome like that.

But I grabbed his arm, stopping him for a moment. He looked at me, upset, but I said, "No. Wait. Something isn't right." My voice was perfectly serious, and apparently enough to rattle him for a moment, and that was just enough for the fog to come.

I still remember that moment, in the middle of the Farallon Islands, above the burning wreckage of dozens of boats, the air seemed to shimmer somewhat, before small wisps of what almost looked like smoke appeared. The smoke seemed to thicken, multiplying, until a thick orb had coalesced. And of course, neither my sister or father could see it.

As he shook my hand off and went to head to the tiller, I was still stuck in place, staring at the ball, my sister brushing by me to loosen the sails. I could feel something from the gray mass. It was muffled, but I could feel the sheer _power_ underneath. I licked my lips, not even noticing.

And that was about when it all went south. The orb pulsed, twice, before it suddenly exploded in size, a great mass of what I could now recognize as fog pushing in all directions, a wall of misty gray headed straight towards us. And then all three of us in the boat were forced to our knees, a pressure laying upon us, almost like a physical hand forcing us to the deck, forcing us to bow before our greater.

I could feel it in the mist, and in the force. This was something bigger.

This was a _God_.

And then out of the mass of mist, a dim shape emerged. It was thirty to forty feet tall, a prow pushing out of the fog, taking shape as a large ship, complete with full rigging and masts materialized, and even as I watched with awe, I could see the shapes of crew appearing one by one to see to the workings of the ship.

And from it all, I could feel the same sense, the same feeling that this was above us mortals. Then I realized, almost dimly, that it was _coming closer_. The large boat was on a direct course towards our significantly smaller craft, and if something didn't change, we would be crushed under the keel.

A quick look around showed that my family was still on their knees, the same as I was, but they were panting heavily, having trouble getting enough air into their lungs, the wide eyes showing they had no idea of what was happening.

Even as I watched, I saw Lhendia's eyes roll up in her head as she fell unconscious, slumping flat on the deck. Immediately, I felt a huge surge of anger welling up within me. I didn't care if that was a captain or a god up there, I was going to _murder_ him for daring to _touch_ my family.

And with that thought, I let out a loud growl and slowly, pushed myself to my feet, my knees shaking somewhat with the exertion. And as that happened, the power that it had seemed to dissolve, leaving me free to assist my family.

All three of us had life vests on, but if I just pushed them in now, they could drown, especially, Lhendia, who was still unconscious, so I turned to the sail instead, producing a small pocket knife and sawing at the ropes holding the mast in place. As soon as those were gone, I hefted the wooden mast out of the socket, sail still attached, and tottered over to the edge, where I let it fall into the water.

There, wood and sailcloth both float, hopefully that'll be something that can keep them supported. My father was still looking on, his breaths coming slower and slower, watching my progress and he attempted to crawl to Lhendia. I could see my sister's chest slowly inflating and deflating, so I knew she could breathe, before I grabbed her arm and lugged her over to the side, before tossing her in to land on the sail, avoiding the mast.

She coughed and seemed to wake up, which was a relief, and she didn't seem to be having any issues breathing, so hopefully she would be alright. I repeated the process with my father next, which was significantly harder, but still doable, while the large boat moved towards our position, almost overshadowing us now.

And then they were both over the edge and grasping onto the mast, legs feebly kicking to keep them afloat. Turning to see the encroaching ship coming closer, I used an emergency paddle to push the makeshift flotation device farther away.

My father managed to grasp his vocal chords for a moment. "W-ait!… C-come… wi-th..." and my sister looked at me with pleading purple eyes.

I shook my head, a small smile on my face. "Sorry, Dad, but I've got a promise to keep." And with that, I ran back to the middle of the boat and faced the ship directly. I pointed a finger directly at the prow, where a figure of a mermaid was affixed to the front. "I'm coming for you."

And the ship hit, impacting the one I was on, flinging chips of wood and metal everywhere. As it almost cut through the sailboat, I ran to a railing, before perching on it and leaping off, managing to hook my fingers around the opening of an ajar viewport, and with slight difficulty, pulling my body through.

Rolling forward through the window and landing on the floor, I looked around. I seemed to be in a cabin, like you might find one some of the older boats, with several beds for bunking, and that was about it.

So, I was here to kill someone. First step, find a weapon. Second step, find the person I plan to kill. Third step. Combine the two. Simple, right? I made my way over to the door out of the room in a crouch, trying to make as little noise as possible. Cracking open the door, I looked out into an empty hallway, with one direction leading up to a set of stairs with sunlight coating them, while the other seemed to lead deeper into the ship.

As I watched, I heard the clumping of feet on wood, and quickly shut the door, keeping an ear out to know when whoever it was had gone. As the steps drew closer, I could recognize that there were two sets, and they were talking, a thick Irish accent masking much of it.

"Wal, 'tis certainly nice ter stretch me legs, at least," a first voice spoke, a loud yawn accompanying his words.

"Ha, jist aboyt anythin' wud be an improvement over bein' dead," the second said. "An' 'avin' free reign ter plunder is jist wool on de sheep!"

The conversation faded once more into obscurity as the heavy boot sounds faded. Okay. So maybe this was a little bigger than before. I didn't know a whole lot, but I was pretty sure that "plunder" meant the same thing in an accent as otherwise. Either way, now I knew there were more people around, I'd have to be a bit more careful. I pushed the last bit about being dead back into my mind, saving that for later. Possibly for a full blown breakdown.

I decided to head further down first, as there was probably less crew down there, and thus I'd be able to go farther before getting caught. I exercised, and was probably stronger than normal for my age, but I knew that any one of these men would be able to overpower me at close range, so my only chance would be to stay out of their way.

I slipped through the door, shutting it silently behind me, before I crept down the hallway, descending down into a deeper section of the ship, until the hallway suddenly opened up into a wide area with several of the men, sounding much the same as the two that had passed by earlier, chatting, while a large cauldron in the center exuded a soft green light, casting shadows of the men nearby.

Sneaking back into the shadows of the corridor, I watched, and was amazed as I saw a man, dressed in leather and furs, with a sword strapped to his waist, and a dagger in his boot, rising up from the cauldron before he stepped out, being greeted warmly by some of the others.

Well. Okay then. So going by what one of the raiders from earlier said, they were dead, and then somehow, the cauldron is restoring them back to life, for the purpose of plundering. I was shaken from my thoughts and my reality crumbling around me by a small section of crew, including the new guy, stepping towards the only exit from the chamber. The hallway where I stood.

I made my way back along the passage as quick as I could, staying ahead of the following soldiers, but in my hast, didn't think to creep inside of a room. Instead, I emerged out of a hatch in the deck that the stairs led up to, and immediately realized my folly, as a dozen spears, swords, and the occasional axe, were pointed at my throat. I gulped, attempting to swallow my nervousness. "Erm… Take me to your leader?"

The small joke wasn't appreciated, and I quickly found my pockets emptied, and being escorted at spearpoint towards the prow of the ship, my guards talking with one another, including lots of laughter. I got the feeling they didn't have a very high opinion of me.

And then I was at the front of the ship, pushed up some stairs, and I saw a tall man, with black hair slicked back down to his shoulders, a thick black robe hanging over his body, with pale thin hands clasped behind his back. He was gazing towards the horizon, and I could see the spires of the Golden Gate Bridge drawing closer.

As I made my way to the top of the stairs, I was prodded with the spears, in an attempt to force me to my knees, but I stayed standing. I've always been stubborn about things like that. I took a small gash on my back, ripping through the shirt I was wearing, but they eventually gave up when I refused to go down.

And then the tall man turned, and I looked into his eyes, black orbs with no white, only darkness, and I was held in place for eternity, absorbed, falling falling falli-

He blinked, and I was free, still standing, but I felt weaker, somehow, as though I had failed by succumbing to the pressure. Now that I was close to this man, I could feel he was the one that had produced the pressure, and even as I thought of it, it increased, attempting to bear down on me, but I stayed standing, shrugging it off. It hadn't affected me before, and it wasn't going to now.

Suddenly the feeling faded, and the god cocked an eyebrow. "Interesting. You do not bow underneath my Presence." He had a soft voice, but it still held the threat of death underneath. He stepped forward, a languid stride that showed he had all the time in the world. "So, tell me, boy. Do you know who I am?"

"I know who you are!" I held out a finger accusingly, only slightly shaken from the force pressing down. "You're Severus Snape!" Well, let it never be said that I was the brightest in stressful situations.

The being stopped for a minute, before the pressure abated, and he laughed, throwing his head back, entire body shaking, although his hands were still folded behind him. The crewmen who had brought me here mostly stood in confusion, not understanding the reference.

Eventually, his laughter abated, and we were left standing in awkward silence, nobody really knowing where to go from there. The god was the first to speak, spreading his arms wide for the first time. "Well, while that was certainly amusing, I'm afraid you are quite incorrect. You see, I am known as Manannan mac Lir, god of the Tuatha de Danann." He gave a mocking bow, introducing himself.

Well. I knew I'd called him a god in my mind before, but I certainly didn't expect _that_. I slowly raised my hand. "So, does this mean that all the gods are real?"

Manannan lowered his head condescendingly. "Yes, child, it certainly does. Quite a scary thought, isn't it?"

My response isn't exactly something I'm proud of now, but it seemed to make sense in the moment. I cheered and threw my hands into the air, before running over to the railing, followed by the eyes of the others. "Hear that, Lhendia!" I shouted over the waves. "I was right!" And then I laughed for a good thirty seconds. I was in a phase at the time.

I looked back, and was faced with the bemused faces of a good two dozen Irish raiders, and the amuse smile of an ancient god. I paused for a moment, before wandering back over to where I was standing before and cleared my throat. "Right. You were saying."

The god shook his head in amusement, arms folded behind him once more. At the moment, he looked like a grandfather, who's grandchild had just done something unusual. And then he raised his head once more, and his smile had a hint of cruelty to it. Then he looked like the creepy uncle nobody likes because he was in jail for a few years.

"Well, I do believe I was just about to tell you how I was going to sail into that little bay there," he motioned with a slight jerk of his head. "and then massacre everyone in that city before I go on to kill everyone else I can before I am forced back to the Domain of Immortality."

My mouth opened and closed several times, before I could finally get out a small, "Oh." At the time, I honestly believe that I couldn't grasp what he was talking about fully. He was talking about killing thousands, perhaps millions of people, and then, I still couldn't understand that fully.

The black haired man extended a thin hand towards me. "Ah, but you, young mortal, have amused me. And so I extend to you, an invitation to become an entertainer, or jester, if you prefer. Then I would spare your life."

I stood fast, and said, "I refuse! I won't serve you like that, someone who plans to murder innocents like that!"

Manannan seemed unfazed, simply folding his arms once again with a small shrug. "Fair enough, I suppose that is an answer. But, as you have amused me, I suppose I will give you a second chance."

He faced back out to the front of the ship, and I noticed, abstractly, that those red colored spires seemed awfully close…

"View, what I shall heap upon these mortals, and then I shall offer you again."

And then the ship impacted, hitting the bridge at a perpendicular angle, somehow, even though it seemed small enough that it should have been flattened itself, the bridge gave way before it, metal beams stretching before snapping upwards at acute angles. Cars with people inside who hadn't been able to clear off in time died, crushed before the godly vessel, the thick metal cables releasing and whipping through the air, making whistling sounds, the creation of four years and thousands of people destroyed in a few instants.

As I looked over the carnage, the blood-painted bridge beginning to be stained with the blood of innocents, something inside me seemed to click, and a feeling of, "Oh, that's what I have to do," came over me. Of course, how could I have forgotten. I came onto this boat for one purpose originally. To kill the captain.

"Well, I offer again. Will you accept, and entertain us as we carve a bloody swath through this world?" The god's voice seemed to come from far away, but at the same time, crystal clear.

I turned back to the _monster_ who had murdered these people, and gave him a kind smile. "You know, that does sound nice, really, but I think I've got a better idea." I straightened and took a firm stance. "I, Chaska Evelin Meltriarc, challenge you, Manannan mac Lir, for the fates of this people." I spread my arms, a mockery of his gesture of earlier. "You win, you kill them all. I win?" My voice dipped, a small portion of bloodlust seeping through. "You _die_."

The crewmembers, now expanded to over fifty, held their breaths in silence, as I stared at their leader and lord. At their _God_. And continued to smile, as I said, "You want entertainment? Come and take it."

My mind was perfectly clear. It didn't feel like adrenaline, or like I was analyzing everything, because I wasn't. I was focused on one thing, one goal, and knew just how I was going to go about doing it.

Manannan's amused smile quirked up at the corner and stayed there, as I stood, inviting the devil to tea. He didn't laugh like he had earlier, but in a way, this signified more. "Very well, young mortal, I shall accept your _generous_ offer." And suddenly, he grinned, a quick flash of teeth. "Try not to die."

He then spoke one word that will probably be inscribed into my memory forever. " _Fragarach_."

And he was gone. It was pure instinct that caused me to leap forwards, tucking into a roll across the rough planks, dodging a horizontal slash that would have bisected me at the waist.

I pivoted in a crouch and saw Manannan standing, completely relaxed, a sword hanging loosely at his side, shaped like a long thin broadsword with a hollow blade and a guard that barely covered his hand. Head tilted to one side, he remarked. "Very good. Try to keep that up, would you?"

And he was gone again. Once more, only dodging frantically to the left allowed me to survive the blow that would have killed me instantly.

The surrounding soldiers were beginning to cheer, shouts of encouragement for their lord ringing through the air. They were my only chance. I dashed forward, leaping just enough to dodge another blow aimed at my feet, and made it into the crowd of onlookers.

Mom's voice was ringing inside my head. First rule of battle. Don't get hit. If I was here inside the crowd, he wouldn't be able to attack me without killing his own crew. I didn't kn ow if he was teleporting, or just really fast, but his attack were in broad enough sweeps that he couldn't target that accurately with them.

Of course, there was nothing keeping the surrounding soldiers from simply backing away and giving him the room, although they luckily refrained from attacking me themselves, not wanting to kill their Lord's prey.

So as they began to stumble back, I slipped the dagger from a thigh sheath of one of the closer ones, twisting in the same motion, raking a vicious uppercut through the man's chin, killing him. Instead of bleeding, he dissolved into vapor with a silent scream, leaving the mortal realm to return to the realm of the dead.

I smiled, still the same, friendly smile as before. Now, I had a weapon. I knew how to use this, years of training before and after my Mom's death flickering through my mind. And then immediately ducked, laying flat on the deck before rolling to the side, earning a gash in my side from the sharp blade of my foe.

"Hmmm. I suppose I didn't expect that." The god seemed just as placid as when the fight had started, and still seemed vaguely amused, although it was tainted by that same sense of cruelty I'd felt earlier. "Oh well. You know, I'm really not much of a fighter," he mused as I regained my footing, my bare feet solid on the rocking deck of the ship.

"I'm really a guardian. Never actually used this blade of mine before." He still continued, calmly. I knew better than to speak during battle. Air was useful, and talking was a waste. That said, I was perfectly happy with letting him talk, and giving me the chance to regain my breath. I'd noticed that he was slowing his blows before they hit, just barely giving me the chance to dodge, and it made me infuriated that he was taking it easy on me. But at the same time, I knew that if he didn't, I would die in a heartbeat.

"Don't worry, though," Manannan continued. And then he disappeared again, as I spun, feeling something behind me. "I've been told it hurts _lots_." His voice whispered directly into my ear, his voice laden with hidden glee.

I flung out the arm with the dagger as I spun in an effort to slice him before he fled again, but I failed once more. This was basically a fighter's worst nightmare, an enemy that seemed to be infinitely fast, that could come from any direction. By now, I knew clearly that I was doomed, but still tried to attack him over and over again, but he always came and went before I had any chance to actually hit him. It was clear that he was taunting me, with the idea of, "You wanted it, you got it."

At this point, I only had one idea of how I could defeat him, but it was a death sentence. Then I glanced out of the corner of my eye, where I could see the city of San Francisco, reminding me why I was fighting. My family was out there, and if my death let them survive, well then, I suppose it would do.

The next time my instinct screamed at me to dodge, I stayed still. Then I was impaled by four feet of divine steel through the stomach. Red blood dripping along the blade, the guard pressed against my back. Manannan almost seemed confused, as he said, "Why didn't you dodge that one?"

Honestly, it hurt worse than I could have imagined, a burning pain that seeped out from my stomach and wove it's tendrils into my nerves, making it hard even to stand. But somehow, I was able to stand through the pain, growling out "So I could do this!"

If he was holding the blade, and the blade was stuck in me, he couldn't move, was my basic logic. So drew my right arm across my body, stabbing over my left shoulder where the voice emanated from.

I understood something had gone wrong when I heard the voice once again amused, "Oh, is that all? I'm disappointed." And saw, with faint disbelief, the broken blade of the dagger bouncing on the wooden planks, just once, before it lay still.

I was interrupted by a wet cough that splattered blood, my blood, onto the deck, staining the wood red. I began to feel weak, and knew that whatever state of mind I had been in before was fast dissolving, leaving me to deal with the pain of being stabbed by myself.

The god, the divine being behind me spoke, "Well, since you got yourself killed, I suppose I'll see what entertainment I shall extract from you before your time comes, jester." He twisted the blade viciously in the wound, causing me to cough up another globule of blood.

" _Fragarach_. What do you fear."

My body locked up, and it felt like I couldn't move at all, until my throat constricted, forcing out the response to his query. "Spider, snakes, death, stubbing my toe, getting a bad grade on a test, sleeping in, drowning, getting kidnapped, missing lunch, having amnesia-"

"Stop." The god commanded, and my throat relaxed, no longer spewing small fears. I attempted to struggle, but my body couldn't move at all, not even to release blood caught in my lungs, which was beginning to block off my airflow.

Manannan sighed, as though disappointed in me, before trying again. "Maybe that was a little too general. _Fragarach_. What is your worst fear."

Once again, I was forced to answer, feeling like a puppet, forced to dance along to his tune. "I… I fear failing my family, letting them down, not being there when they needed me. That they," my voice choked up slightly, though whether from a blood clot or from emotion, I couldn't tell. "Die, because I wasn't there."

"A noble sentiment," Manannan stated, releasing the blade, still stuck in my body, but I was still frozen in place, unable to fall. "I suppose that makes you a hero, doesn't it? Well then, little hero. I will send you into the afterlife one. Albeit, a very small one, for," he walked in front of me, just a few steps, and motioned towards the city, now the boat was simply waiting for the order to disembark, more and more raiders emerging from beneath decks. "As you can see, this city is still going to die, along with your family."

At his words, my body was once more focused, the need to kill _him_ , before he could kill _them_ entirely consuming me. And then it felt like I was separate from my body, a chain leading up to something filling me. I know that sounds really weird, but it was honestly what if felt like. And then I spoke, words I didn't know and had never heard filling me.

" _Loeding and Dromi, the chains of the Aesir, that could not hold the wolf, bursting, breaking, becoming free. For the price of a hand, the chains of the gods cannot hold the destined killer."_

I was free for a moment, my body once more able to move, but I still felt like a prisoner as my left arm swiped down and across the steel embedded into me, cutting off my left hand at the wrist, causing me to scream. And I realized that I was in control once more.

Before I could think properly, I grabbed the blade by my still existent right hand. Physically pulling the sword through my body, before I grabbed it by the same hand, and fell forward.

The god had barely looked upwards at hearing my scream when I barreled into him, the hollow blade impaling him through the chest, causing him to stagger back beneath my weight, before we both collapsed upon the deck. His crew drew closer, crying in shock and fear. If their lord disappeared, so did they.

As the two warriors lay upon the deck, both bleeding from grievous wounds, I managed to lean forward with what strength I had left, and whispered into his ear. "Don't… touch my family… idiot."

In response, the god merely laughed, laughing long and hard, and when he finally spoke, he had begun to dissolve into golden motes of dust that seemed to from a spiral as my vision began to fade. "Advice noted, Godslayer. I suppose this is your win, then."

As my vision went black completely, the last thing I remember is him closing his eyes, and the content face dissolving along with the rest of him, an impression of shock from above, and the sensation of falling…

* * *

End AN: And there we have it, to begin with at least. The next couple "chapters" I had written up were pretty sure, so I'll probably combine 2 and 3 into one chapter, so you'll at least have a couple thousand words with that one. And feel free to send character ideas to me, and if I like them, I'll credit you if I use them.

For actual comments on the story, I do have a couple of things I'd like to mention. First of all, the God is Manannan mac Lir, a god of the Tuatha de Danann, which is basically the Celtic Pantheon. He was the god of seas and transporting people to the underworld, as well as famous for hiding the world of the Fae from the humans.

And about the whole pressure thing, that's something I wasn't quite sure of from the original source material. Like it or not, these are _gods_ coming down to the physical plane. If they focused their divine presence upon you, I feel that you'd simply burst from the pressure. In this fic, there'll be a lot more focus on that.

And the whole, _Chains of the Aesir_ thing? That? Oh, that little thing? Yep. Something that all Campione have is a dramatically increased pool of magic to work with, I've heard it described as "as if what had been a puddle was now magnified to an ocean." So why do virtually none of the Campiones use it? But to clarify somewhat, no, Chaska doesn't _use_ magic per se, he has more of an instinctual capability for it. His magic pool was awoken by the proximity to Manannan, and the spell he used was a simple one, channeling Fenrir of Norse mythology to break a binding placed upon him. I see magic in the Campione-verse as channeling the Gods of the Domain of Immortality to accomplish feats, kinda a lesser form of authorities, but without any divinity. But yes, Chaska will be able to use it in the future, he just needs to learn _how_ first. Keep in mind that currently, he has absolutely no clue what he did, or how to do it again.

And I will say this now, that I know Chaska's backstory, and why he can and does do the things that he does. But I also am human, and will make some mistakes and the occasional plot hole in the future. I will do my best to keep those to a minimum though, hopefully with you guys' help.

That said, I will admit that I really need more practice at fight scenes. I was able to kinda slink past this one by abbreviating it to a couple of lines, but I'm not going to be able to do that in the future, instead needing to actually go through them bit by bit. So any tips or whatever for writing those would be seriously appreciated.

I will also be posting Chaska's relevant/current authorities at the End AN of the next chapter, so just wait until then for that. Happy Holidays, and I'll see you next time!

Edit: I toned down the Divine Presence somewhat, as I felt it might have been a bit too strong in the first version of this, and also added a couple things that will probably arise in the future. One of the best things, in my mind, about rewriting this, was that I got a bunch of new ideas to include later! Some of them will crop up in the next chapter or two, while others will probably be a long way away, if they get used at all. Feel free to send any of your ideas as well.

Also, I apologize to anyone who speaks Irish or has an Irish accent, as I probably bungled that up pretty horribly, and it is not meant to be offensive in any way.


	2. In Which I'm Adopted and Everyone Panics

AN: Iiii'm baaaaaaacck!

Yeah, I know it's been a while since I've posted anything, but I have some very good reasons.

1\. I've been working through PMs to improve the future of this story.

2\. School's started back up, as well as a school play, which takes up 10 hours a week by itself.

3\. I've the ACT coming up in a few months and I've been studying for it.

4\. I'm REALLY good at procrastinating.

...

Okay, maybe that last one isn't a good reason, but it's the truth.

And then a **huge** announcement before the chapter begins. Flagarach, another Campione fic writer has kindly agreed to be a Beta Reader for this story, as well as giving me tons of humongous advice on the story. Please give him your thanks, as this story wouldn't be the same without his input. Also go check out his own story, _It Sits in the Family_ , a really great fic.

And if you haven't seen it yet, I redid the first chapter with his help, and it's a massive improvement to what it was before, so feel free to check that out first if you haven't yet.

Then the last caveat before the story begins, I took some liberties with Pandora's ritual of creating a Campione. I checked the light novel, anime, and wiki on how it actually went, but they seemed to differ. So I took some cues from them and created something that's pretty close, and I feel it works, but it's by no means official.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own OCs and my _amazing_ talent to put off things until later.

* * *

 _It's only now, years later, that I actually found out about Pandora, the all-giving mother. It certainly explained why I had a very odd sense of annoyance when I woke up on that beach, fully healed. I still don't remember what happened, but I'm pretty sure it has a link to why I still have the worst luck..._

"Well now, that was possibly the most interesting last words of one of my children I've ever heard."

That was the first thing I heard, waking up with a sharp snap to consciousness, instead of the usual slow rise to functioning properly. The other thing that I noticed was that my head was lying on something soft and warm, like a heated pillow, while the rest of me felt like it was on _something_ , but there wasn't quite words to describe it. It wasn't warm, or cold, or soft, or hard. It was more of an unknown, something that couldn't be quantified.

I decided it was a good idea to let whoever it was talking know that I was awake, so I could go back to sleeping. "Be quiet. I'm supposed to be dead right now. I'm sure I'm rolling in my grave right now."

I could practically _hear_ the pout from the voice. "Mou, that wasn't very nice. Telling me to be quiet, while she's giving you a lap pillow, no less! Such ingratitude to your mother."

I found myself my feet before I could fully recognize what I was doing, glaring at where the voice came from. The speaker looks like a young girl with purple hair in long twintails, rubbing her forehead with an upset look on her face.

"You are NOT my mother!" my voice was raised, shouting in my anger. "There is only _one_ person who ever was or will be my Mom, and she is _dead_. You are _not_ her."

The girl continued rubbing her forehead with a small glare. "So mean…"I belatedly realized I must have bumped our heads when I got up so suddenly, and as my anger-fuelled adrenaline began to wear off, I felt a bruise forming on my own, but ignored it.

"From my perspective, it was perfectly reasonable." I folded my arms and gave her a glare of my own. "I have a family, and you are _not_ part of it." I then realized something and became slightly giddy. "Wait, if I am dead, is my Mom here too?" I could tell I was acting like an excited kid, but I didn't care. As long as I could see her, at least once more, nothing else mattered.

A slightly evil grin formed on her face, filled with the promise of revenge. "Nope, this is more of between. The underworld, or otherworld, depending on which you prefer. No dead mothers here, they're a little farther on. You haven't quite reached that level yet. You're still mostly dead-"

"-Which means I'm still slightly alive," I completed glumly. Ah, I was so close to seeing her again, and getting on of those famous hugs. But at the same time, I didn't quite feel like I was ready to die yet. Call it superstition or whatever, but I had a feeling I wasn't done yet with the world of the living.

"Yep!" The strange girl was standing up now, arms planted at her hips, and looking far too smug. "But I could be your step-mom-"

"No."

"Mou! You didn't even let me finish!"

I sighed and decided to brush off the strange conversation, hopefully moving to less volatile waters. "So if I'm only mostly dead, what happens now?" I took a good look around for the first time, and found myself in an all-white landscape, with a lack of any identifying features besides the pushy girl in front of me. It seemed like a wasteland, and brought to mind the concept of limbo. Endless empty space between life and death.

The purple-haired girl folded her arms and turned away in an attempt to seem snobbish. She failed, being as tall as my chest. "Not if you're going to be like _that_. I'm just trying to help, but I've been rejected! By my own son, no less!"

I took a threatening step forward, hands clutched into fists. "What was that last bit?!"

"Eeh? Nothing, nothing!" She frantically waved her hands back and forth to wave it off. Giving her a baleful look, I allowed it to pass.

"Fine, fine. I know when I'm not wanted-"

"You really don't."

"Hush!" She walked up and gave him a quick kick to the shin. "I was talking!"

Restraining the urge to assault the short brat myself, I took a few deep breaths before responding verbally. "Hmm, well, last I checked, grown women and mothers didn't act quite like that." I allowed my gaze to drift down to her chest, or rather, her lack of one. "Yep. Definitely not grown yet."

She followed my gaze down, pausing for a moment as I looked away, uncomfortable to be staring at a girl's chest at all, before she went red and dashed at me, hitting me ineffectually with her small hands. "I am a grown-up! I'm older than you! I deserve some respect!"

She looked up with a glare. "I even adopted you now! I'm mommy Pandora, and there's also Daddy Epimetheus. You have to respect your parents!"

 _Still a child. Don't murder. Don't murder._ "I said it before. You aren't my mother! And you never will be!"

She backed off and stamped her foot, displaying her displeasure. It would have seemed cute if she wasn't apparently trying to kidnap me via way of adoption. "But it's unofficially official now! You're half god, you know! How can you reject me like that!"

If I recalled, Pandora was simply married to a god, so I guess that was Epimetheus. "I don't think adoption works like that. I'm still human. And like this. _No_."

"Grouch!"

"Midget!"

"Crossdresser!"

"Overattached stalker!"

"I AM NOT-" Pandora broke off, taking several deep breaths to calm herself before she continued. "Know what? I am the adult here. I am older than you, and more mature. I will not dissolve this sacred ritual into an argument." Seemingly satisfied, she turned back to me with a smug smile. "And besides, you aren't going to remember this anyway, and I know _I'm_ going to do my best to forget, so let's get this over with."

She took a deep breath, and suddenly her presence seemed to magnify, expanding into something larger. I unconsciously took a step back, backing away from the feeling. Suddenly, this small girl who had been almost ineffectual seemed _dangerous_.

She began to speak, eyes closed and hands clasped in front of her. "Let all those present witness the birth of a new Campione! By the cursed pact of Epimetheus, I raise him once again to be a godslayer, a king. All those present grant their blessing and their hatred upon this child. The eighth Campione!"

I felt a cold wind begin to blow, and many undecipherable jeers and calls seemed to erupt from the air. Overwhelmed, I spun around to search for the cause, but found nothing.

The girl, no; The _god,_ continued her chant, uncaring of my confusion: "Possessing the destiny of battle and loneliness, to never have peace, and never find rest. To be the link between worlds, but part of neither. Please bestow the sacred spell words upon this child!" Arms beginning to raise, and eyes beginning to open, I noticed they were glowing in a mystical glow. Her arms then pushed out in a shooing motion. "Now get out."

I woke up, my head resting on something hard, while my body was supported by a soft shifting bed of sand. I said, "Be quiet. I'm supposed to be dead right now."

Nobody responded, and I opened my eyes only to squint against the bright California sun. "I don't know why I thought that would do anything," I mumbled quietly as I sat up. Partway through the motion, a wave washed over me, threatening to pull me back out to sea.

I yelped, the sound coming out more like a garble in the salt water, and clung onto the sand to keep my place. After the force faded, I coughed, expelling seawater from my lungs, and staggered farther up the beach to keep myself from getting sucked out again.

I relaxed a short way up the beach, taking a seat on the warm sand. "I guess it was all just a dream," Nobody was around, the beach surprisingly empty, so I didn't hesitate to speak my thoughts out loud. "Maybe I fell off the boat while sailing, and just made it all up." Just in case, I rolled up my soaked shirt to check.

While there was a small slit in the middle, there was no sign of any kind of mark to show that I had been impaled through my stomach. No scar, or anything, just smooth skin. I pouted at in in a fit of childishness. I trained every day, and I still didn't have a six-pack!

I sighed again and laid back against the sand, allowing the salty fabric to fall back down. "I suppose it was all just a dream," I murmured to the empty beach.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a red spire of steel poking up out of the water, the city of San Francisco just a little away. To the sides of the last twisted spire was only the ruined wreckage of a once-great bridge. The muted dim of sirens barely audible.

Raising myself onto my knees, I faced the devastation head on for a moment, before bowing my head and closing my eyes. "Why?" My voice was shaking, and I had a lump in my throat. "Why'd I live, while they all died!" I was beginning to cry now, hot tears cascading down my face, burning trails of sorrow.

My fist impacted the sand, a puff of sand blasting into the air. "I was the one who fought that guy! I chose to climb on! Why did _they_ have to pay the price for _my_ arrogance!" I sank down, hands clenched into fists, my face pressing against the warm sand. The warm summer sun beat down happily as I cried, belying the tragedy just a short distance away.

"They weren't doing anything!

"They were innocent!

"Why did I have to live, when they deserved it more!"

I don't know how long I cried, too wrapped up in releasing my frustrations and fears all at once. When I finally rose, flecks of sand stuck to my face, I felt almost dead inside, like I didn't have any more emotions to release. In front of me, where my fist had hit the sand, there was a small crater of sand, pushed out by the force of my blow.

Uncaring, I stumbled to my feet, and slowly made my way back to the city proper. It was all a daze until I found Father and Lhendia, where I collapsed upon them, only mumbling, "I want to go home," before I drifted off to an exhausted sleep. I had killed a god, and there were going to be repercussions for it eventually. But right then? I just wanted the comfort of my family.

* * *

 **Excerpt from intercepted Whitengamot report on odd disappearance of Heretic God off the coast of California**

It was discovered on the 17th of July, 2013 at 14:37 GST, that a Heretic God had manifested 30 miles off the coast of California. It took the form of a large mediaeval ship and a mass of fog, which covered the bay for about a mile around the point of origin.

The origin point was detected to be the Farallon islands, and on further investigation, it was discovered that a group of cultists had created a ring about the islands. Their exact affiliation is currently unknown, but they chanted for three days without stopping to summon a god. The Heretic God was summoned without a need for mass human sacrifice; but as a consequence, the magical backlash was severe, and there are traces of magical implosions about the island, setting the newly summoned god free.

It was discovered as soon as the alert was sounded, that John Pluto Smith, the resident Campione of the USA district, was absent on other business, and would not be able to arrive for a short time. We were directed to attempt to keep the ship at bay through spells, and not to approach it directly; as we had no personnel capable of facing a Heretic God directly.

Our spells were completely ineffective against the boat, it continued up the channel and collided directly with the Golden Gate Bridge, destroying it and killing over 1,000 un-evacuated people, although the exact number is unknown for now.

We kept a safe distance, not daring to get too close after the event. But we were sadly unable to know what exactly happened on board. Some of our agents placed higher up attempted to get a view, but could not make out details clearly, only that some kind of battle seemed to be happening.

We also attempted to launch helicopters for an aerial view, but by the time they were in the air, the Heretic God had already made it's disappearance.

Shortly after crashing through the Golden Gate Bridge, the boat stopped for a few minutes. Then it dissolved into golden particles along with the Heretic God and anyone upon it, cementing the fact that both the boat and crew were created by an authority. It is unknown whether the Heretic God was slain, or activated another authority to transport itself away. No wreckage or bodies were found.

It is as of yet unknown what Heretic God it was, as it disappeared before we could receive a definite answer. It is possible that it had been killed, and we now have a new Campione in the world.

We do have a few witches attempting to gain a reading on the area, but they seem unable to pick up anything but faint traces of the same fog as at the event. It is theorized that the fog has the capability to hide magical signatures, so it may be difficult to find either the god or new Campione, as we still do not know for sure what happened to cause the god to vanish.

The event was officially declared to be a sudden typhoon that picked up in the bay, and due to the pressure differences, caused the fog, while a chunk of seabed was picked up by it, and collided into the bridge to cause the destruction. Interviewing those who had their Magic awakened by the event is still continuing, although we have gathered several new recruits by now.

As of now, it is unknown what happened to the Heretic God, and whether it is still at large. Stay in contact, and warn any nearby outposts if you see any sign of strange fog.

* * *

 **Excerpt from report filed into the archives of the History Compilation Committee, on 2nd of September, 2013**

Today, at 8:15 AM, a Heretic God was defeated in Istanbul, Turkey.

The Heretic god has been positively identified as Achilles, a hero of great renown from the Greek Iliad.

Achilles first appeared and began to lay siege, in a way, to the city of Istanbul. He would kill anybody that left it's walls, much as his legend. Eventually, Lord Salvatore Doni arrived, and began to fight with him, albeit with much property destruction.

Between Achilles unbreakable skin, and Lord Doni's Authority the Ripping Arm of Silver, the two were at an impasse until a sudden bank of fog appeared. It seemed remarkably similar to earlier this year at the Golden Gate Bridge. The sudden fog bank swallowed up both the Campione and the Heretic God, and then dispersed shortly afterwards, leaving behind a wounded Achilles, and a confused Lord Doni.

Lord Doni later reported that he could not see anything inside the mist, and while he could cut it with ease, it was swiftly replaced, rendering him ineffectual. He could not find either what caused the mist or the Heretic God while he was inside. Upon the mist's dispersal and killing the Heretic God, Lord Doni revealed that it did not qualify as a fair kill, and so he did not gain any new authorities. (Side note from a bystander. "Good thing, too! The last thing we need is that idiot with any more power!")

It is unknown whether the strange fog was the presence of the same Heretic God as earlier this year, or a previously unknown Campione, who killed the god. The History Compilation Committee will be keeping an eye out for any signs of this mysterious being, and what they are after.

* * *

 **Excerpt from Letter from Paolo Blandelli of the Copper-Black Cross, to Diana Milito of the Bronze-Black Cross, dated 5th December, 2013**

My close associate, I take this opportunity to reach out to you and share some private information that our faction has come across. I do not entirely understand what forces are at work, but we may need to set aside our differences for a time if my suspicions are correct.

Yesterday, a Heretic God materialized in the middle of Cicily, Italy, in the midst of one of our bases. This was during a visit from the American ambassadors of the Sorcerous Sacrilege Investigation. It was a twin god, and immediately declared it's identity as Castor and Pollux of the Greek Argonauts, decimating any forces that attacked them.

As our forces lay defeated, and the Heretic God was about to do as in their legend, and take them, a thick cloud bank rolled in. Much like the two earlier events this year in July and September. The god was encompassed by the cloud, and all the vanquished could hear was a roaring sound and the clashing of steel for several minutes.

At one point a loud roar of anger was heard, and a small figure wearing a cloak that hid their entire body, possibly female from the body shape, was sent flying out of the cloud. Before anything could be seen or done though, the figure leapt back into the fray. Soon, the bank dissipated and all that remained was the dissolving god. There _were_ signs of a fight, arrows piercing the ground, and a great horse lay dead with a slit throat. But the mysterious cloaked figure was nowhere to be seen.

It is suspected by members of our association that this is the rumored 8th Campione, but we have no proof, and have no idea where the hidden figure currently resides.

I have taken the liberty to ensure you are aware of this potentially crucial information, in the hopes that you will be generous in the times to come.

* * *

 **Excerpt from Letter from Diana Milito of the Bronze-Black Cross, to Paolo Blandelli of the Copper-Black Cross, dated 6th December, 2013**

I and my organization are grateful to you for your generous offer of information which we had already had our spies steal.

And I don't care. You're still not getting my good Alexandrian wine.

* * *

 **Excerpt from Letter from Paolo Blandelli of the Copper-Black Cross, to Diana Milito of the Bronze-Black Cross, dated 6th December, 2013**

But Diana…!

* * *

End AN: Yeah, they're probably seriously OOC, but I think I prefer it this way a bit. I enjoy seeing a more childish Pandora, and I will admit to taking a few liberties as to the leaders of the crosses, since I don't have a good grasp of their personalities through the LN. So I suppose they ended up a little childish as well. Or at least one of them did.

One of the biggest things I would like feedback on is how well I did on both the humor and the emotional part of this chapter. I tried to make it at least somewhat lighthearted, but I also wanted to really hit in that people _died_. That's something that can get overlooked in movies, books, and even a few fics, although I think those are rarer. So I wanted to draw attention to the fact that that's over a thousand people with hopes, dreams, and lives of their own that were wiped out because an insane god decided to have some fun before he eventually died.

And then lastly, yeah, this was a seriously short chapter. Originally, these were actually two separate chapters, since they seemed to split like that, but I cobbled them together into one since they were both two short. I also have the next one or two chapters written, but I need to rewrite them before I actually put them up. I don't know how long it'll be until the next update, but hopefully not as long as this one.

Ciao, and see you guys next chapter!


	3. In Which I Ride a Boat and Tie Up a Girl

AN: Yo! So this story has gone through some serious changes since I first wrote it. This chapter is one of the biggest ones, with just about every scene from the original chapter replaced. The only scene that's remotely the same is the final scene, and even that has been changed drastically.

As we get into it, I'd like to say that one of my main goals in this chapter was to showcase the difference between Chaska when he's at school or with friends, and Chaska when he's in Campione Mode(TM). The other part is to show how not knowing what's going on has affected him. He's a teenager, thrown into this weird world filled with things that want to kill him. How do you think he would deal with it? He's probably dealing with some form of PTSD by now, besides whatever issues he may or may not have from his past.

Disclaimer: Campione is owned by somebody that I am assuming is Japanese. I don't own any of it, and mostly just wreck their world for my own writing practice.

* * *

 _Honestly, the first few months of being a Campione was probably the hardest. Just think about it. A teenager, fresh from the fear of battle, heading back to high school. I had no idea what a God-Slayer was in the first place, or how many there were, or_ anything _. I was constantly freaking out, worrying another God would pop up behind me and take me out. I didn't even realize I had authorities for a few weeks. I was a very paranoid little kid for that time period. Luckily, I'd mellowed out somewhat by the time things really started getting crazy, but that doesn't mean it's easy to try and handle_ _school with something like that hanging over your head._

Heading down the paved road from his house, Chaska slowed his pace as he reached a street corner. Peeking around the wall that blocked his view, he let out an inward sigh of relief upon seeing the course clear. He'd been on eggshells since last week, when a Kuchisake-Onna -a Japanese demonic spirit with a penchant for murder- had surprised him on his way home one night. He may or may not have gained a minor fear of corners now.

"None this time, huh?"

Whirling, Chaska restrained himself enough to not put a spike of mist through the person standing behind him. Recognizing the figure, he twisted his hands into some gross hybridization of a karate stance and made several fake chopping motions. "Back off! I have protagonist powers and I'm not afraid to use them!"

The attacker, a male teenager with short brown hair drawn back in a small ponytail cocked an eyebrow. "You know, most protags get their power boosts by getting beat up on first, then going and getting a sudden upgrade just in time for plot relevant catastrophes." He paused, then added as an afterthought. "Of course, that doesn't stop them from getting beat up while they're at it, either."

"I don't care! If I go down, I'm taking you down with me!"

His friend stared at him with a blank face, before stating in a perfect deadpan, "Ouch. I'm hurt."

Dropping the miserably fake stance, Chaska straightened and gave a laugh, prompting his friend's mask to crack as well. "Good morning, Rascal. Up bright and early to stalk me again I see."

Rascal threw his hands up in mock frustration. "It's not stalking! It's a coincidence each time, really!"

Chaska took a step back and pointed a finger accusingly off to his right. "You live that way." He pointed at back towards his friend. "I live that way. You got behind me by coincidence _how_?"

Offering a cheeky grin, the brown haired boy shrugged before whispering "Coincidence." while making creepy hand motions.

Changing the subject, Rascal pointed back at the long-haired teenager. "And what about you? You've checked this corner every day this week, just to make sure no cute girls run into you."

"It happened once! And I was giving a speech that day! I had to give the speech with strawberry jam on my shirt, and afterwards three different people came to me and asked if it was blood."

"Wow. That's pretty weird."

"Yeah. I still don't know why she was carrying toast in her mouth like that. Or how it didn't break while she was running at high speeds."

"The mysteries of women never end."

Both boys nodded sagely.

Chaska lifted his arm and took a quick glance at his wrist. The Secretary at Meridian High School, where they both attended, was infamous for his harsh penalties on those who were late. Not that he had the power to actually fulfill them, but nobody wanted to have an eighteen year old following them around whining about not being able to force-feed them a pint of hot sauce.

"If we get running now, we can make it before the bell rings."

"Unless someone jumps you again."

"It was one time!"

S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S

Cynthia Delmont was the best. And not only that, she knew it too. Of course, that wasn't counting adults or people outside of the school, but in the little world that was Meridian High School she was perched on top of a pile of those beneath her. The proof was there four times a year as well, her name sitting right next to the little 1 on the scoring chart for the school. She never really looked down past that, just enough to ensure her top spot and then walk away as though she hadn't needed to check at all, and was merely humouring the rest of them.

Her looks didn't do anything to discourage her, fiery red hair hanging to mid-back, with a cute face and glimmering brown eyes to go along with it. Her figure wasn't anything to complain about either, just starting to gain curves. It wasn't that she was rich or spent large amounts of money on clothes or cosmetics, (not to say she didn't use _any_ ) just a gift from heaven, a blessing of good looks.

But more than that, it was her personality. The majority of the school were absolutely convinced that if you looked for "confidence" in the dictionary, not only would her picture be there, but it would take up the whole page. Everything she did she did with absolute purpose, with knowledge of who she was and that she was better than anyone else. Not to say she was wrong about that, either.

So she was understandably annoyed when her partner for the assigned history project, to investigate the effects of World War 1 on the economy, showed up twenty minutes late to their agreed study meeting.

The long-haired blonde slid into the seat across the table from her, placing his backpack under the table in the same action. "Hey, sorry I'm late."

"Me, upset? Why would I be upset at you being late. Again!" She glared at Chaska, praying some of the killing intent stuff she had read about would leak out and immolate him.

Her partner pulled out several books from his pack, giving her an odd look. "I never said you were upset. Are you upset? I was pretty late this time."

 _Murder is a crime. Murder is a crime. Murder is a crime._

To appease herself, she instead gave him a sharp kick in the shin below the table. At least she thought she did, since her foot hit something, but he didn't react at all. So instead, she gave him the coldest smile she could muster, one that spoke of ice and death and the unspoken _or else_. "No, just happy you could make it. Whatever kept you must have been serious."

He pulled his ponytail nervously, not meeting her eyes. "You could say that."

In other words, he forgot or got distracted, before dashing over here in an attempt to save face. Out of all the possible partners, why did she have to get the weird one that clearly didn't care? Curse the teacher that forced them to work together. She didn't need him, or anyone else!

She slid over the paper she'd been writing on, showing the notes she'd taken so far. "So far, I've been able to find several tax reports showing a decrease in taxes in the years after the war." He was looking over the paper as she kept talking. At least he could pay attention. And he did get good grades. So why was it so hard for him to show up on time?

He tapped a number on the sheet. "That's probably because of the decreased numbers. Mercenaries who left and never came back, leaving their families without a money-earner. Could we check census records for these years?"

Well, at least he was helping now. She noted that he seemed to have deep bags under his eyes. Was he not getting enough sleep? She began to feel a sense of guilt well up within her. Maybe he wasn't-

He suddenly winced as though shocked before standing up and grabbing his bag, leaving the books he'd pulled out on the table. "Sorry, I've got to go. It's an emergency. My father needs help with work on occasion." The pencil she was holding snapped in her grip and her traitorous partner jumped, looking for the source of the sound.

Shaking his head, he left without another word, almost running out of the library.

That. Colossal. _Idiot!_ He gets here late, starts actually doing something useful, but then leaves after five minutes! He didn't look at his phone or anything either, so there was no way for him to need to leave so suddenly. She didn't know what his problem was, or his so called emergency, but nobody just brushed off Cynthia Delmont like that! Well, at least not with serious consequences.

She began to gather her own papers as well as the books he'd left behind. If he wasn't coming back, then there was no reason to stick around. And if he wanted his books back, well then, he'd better come back and apologize, shouldn't he.

Making her own way out of the library, she idly brushed her arms where some humidity had condensed. It hadn't been that humid earlier, had it?

S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S

"You know, I think someone's stalking you." Rascal said, laying with his back on the grass, his hair in spikes that seemed to defy gravity.

"It's a coincidence." Chaska was next to him, stretched out on a grassy hill looking over a park.

"She's been glaring at you for the past ten minutes from behind that tree."

"Coincidence."

"It's been going on for the past two weeks."

"Maybe she's wondering why you change your hair every day."

"I'll take that secret to my grave!" He shook a fist at the sky in defiance, not budging from his repose.

A pause.

"No seriously, she's stalking you."

Chaska sat up and propped himself on his elbows, rolling his eyes at his friend. "And why would they do that?"

"...jealousy?"

"Why would someone be jealous of me?" He was honestly confused about this.

Sitting up, his friend gave him a flat look. "Really?"

"What?"

He sighed and laid back down again, pointing his thumb over towards the subject of their conversation. One could barely see a head of red hair partially hidden behind a thick tree in the center of the park.

The hair jerked back into cover.

"If I'm right, that's Cynthia Delmont. If you've got _her_ feeling insecure, I may have seriously underestimated your appeal."

"...I don't know what you're saying, but I feel I should be getting mad."

"And you seriously have no idea why she's following you?"

"Well I know her, but I seriously doubt she's following me. This is a nice day at the park, and it's a day off from school. Is there a reason why she can't be here to just enjoy the scenery?" Chaska was starting to get annoyed at the repeated insisting that somebody was following him.

Holding up his hands in submission, other boy retreated slightly. "Fine, fine. She _could_ be here to enjoy the weather. And last week on the roof. And during gym. _And_ through the window at your house."

" _Through the what!?_ "

"Kidding, kidding." he waved a hand pacifyingly. It didn't help much.

Before the conversation could escalate any further, a loud beeping emerged from the long haired boy's pocket. He pulled out his phone, which was sounding in an annoying tone.

Chaska checked the screen, his face going grim. "Sorry, Rascal. I gotta take this."

As he got up to go, his friend heaved himself up to a sitting position with a grunt. "You know, I designed that app for you, I'd recognize that annoying beeping in my sleep by now." He cocked his head to the side. "So what's so urgent about a sudden natural disaster showing up somewhere? Why would you need something like that in the first place?"

Chaska hesitated, before shaking his head. "Sorry. I gotta go." And he dashed off, faster than Rascal remembered his speed before the summer. He shook his head sadly and sighed.

He pretended not to notice how Chaska had grown dark bags under his eyes, or how he kept catching him accidentally crushing water bottles, or how if somebody sneezed close to him he jumped and looked like he was about to attack somebody.

He pretended to ignore it, knowing his friend didn't want anyone to know. So he kept quiet, kept making the same silly comments. Whatever was going on in Chaska's life, he would be here to balance it out with whacky gestures and stating the obvious.

"I don't know what you're getting into, but stay safe." He fell back again, cushioning his head on folded arms. He glanced back towards the tree. There was no sign of red hair. "And her too. Whatever this is."

S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S

Cynthia Delmont had been having a bad day. No, make that a bad week. Ever since he left in the middle of their session, she couldn't resist from glaring at the insufferable boy. She'd dropped several comments about his habits to others as well, who took them and ran, creating a situation where he would be scorned for ignoring her like that.

She had tried to confront him herself, but each time she got close to asking him he disappeared before she could. And he hadn't showed up to the last study session either, so that was a bust. She'd given up on actually confronting him herself and had decided to wait for him to come to her. He'd have to eventually.

So when he'd showed up at the park, she kept her distance, just watching. But when he got up suddenly and left, probably citing another 'emergency,' she couldn't resist following him, to find out what was so important he ditched both her and his only friend.

Following after him, not bothering with stealth –who cared if he knew she was coming. She was in the right here– she came to the edge of the park, bordering the road with cars going past. But she couldn't spot him anywhere in sight. Looking both ways with a grimace, she started walking to the right. Looks like she'd lost him this time too.

After walking for a short time, she found herself in front of a warehouse which she could have sworn had been abandoned for years, she was surprised to see a flickering light shining through the windows.

Not knowing quite why, she walked in, her feet carrying her almost against her will. Inside were five dark figures wearing long cloaks with hoods, all huddled around a small blue fire. What you can do with chemicals nowadays, Cynthia supposed.

As one, the figures rose, turning to face her. Finding that more than a little creepy, she tried to take a step back, discovering her feet seemed stuck to the ground. Biting back the rising sense of panic, she put on a brave face. "Who the heck are you guys, are what are you doing in here? I seriously doubt you have permission from the owner."

One of the men approached, but none of them made a sound. Trying to turn, she caught sight of something that filled her stomach with fear. On the left side of the warehouse floor were about twenty bodies, both male and female, laid out as if sleeping.

"What is this! Why can't I move! What's wrong with you bozos!" Cynthia found the most she could move was her head, but before she could do anything a long, cold finger pressed against the middle of her forehead. And her consciousness fled her.

S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S

When Cynthia woke up again, she was on a small cot in the middle of an otherwise empty room, the faint swaying signifying she was on a boat of some kind. Thankfully, she was still in the casual clothes she had been wearing at the park, and she couldn't find signs of being abused or mistreated.

The only change she could find was that now she had a tattoo. Or four of them. They were bands around her wrists and ankles in the shape of a series of interlocking circles, glowing a warm orange color.

When she first stepped off the cot onto the floor, a burning sensation ran up her leg, and she jumped back on, not wanting to feel what seemed like her nerves burning out of her skin. Upon experimentation, she discovered that if her feet or hands touched the floor, she got burned, but any other part of her body was fine.

Over time, she gave up on someone coming into the room with food or water. It was odd, but her body didn't seem to feel hungry or thirsty, or any of her other usual needs. She still felt weak, as though she hadn't eaten, but never hungry. She supposed it was another way of keeping the prisoners docile.

Cynthia had attempted to reach the door several times, but the cot was nailed to the floor and the only way across to the stained wood door was to walk. Once she reached a certain point from the bed, about five steps, her body stopped responding, before mechanically walking back and setting her down on the green cot. Not to mention the shooting pains from her legs just from standing on the floor.

One day, she didn't know how long it had been, she was broken from her attempts to pry a screw loose from the cot by her tattoos, which had faded to a dull black color, almost like a brand. Reaching over to the floor, she touched her foot down, almost recoiling at first, but placing her full weight onto it once she was sure no pain was forthcoming.

Excited, she ran forwards to the door, raising a hand to open it when the door opened on it's own, revealing green eyes and long blonde hair in a ponytail.

Cynthia's hand froze, before she folded her arms and gave a loud huff. "You're late again, Emergency Boy."

One eyebrow rising dramatically, Chaska was undoubtedly about to offer some kind of sarcastic remark but she held up her hand in a clear gesture for him to stop. "Shut it. I don't want to hear it. You're here to get me outta here, so let's go. About time, too. I was about to die from boredom."

Pushing past him into the hallway she noticed other doors identical to her own, other captives making their way out of the rooms. Some crying with relief, others hugging, all happy to be freed.

A short time later, all the captives including Cynthia were up on the main deck, blinking at the first real light they had seen for a while, and enjoying the feel of cool wind on their skin.

Squinting at the horizon, Cynthia rested her arms on the guardrail and looked at the vague silhouette of what may have been the Statue of Liberty.

Hearing someone come up behind her, she spoke. "So, magic, huh?"

Her classmate leaned on the guardrail next to her, facing away from the ocean. "You noticed, then?"

She snorted. "Kinda hard to miss it when I see blue fire, guys in hooded cloaks, and magic bracelets for slaves." She'd had a lot of time to consider the possibilities, what with being trapped in an empty room with nothing to do.

She saw a glimmer of worry in his eyes before she turned away, facing the sea. She didn't need pity, just answers. "What happens now? Do I get inducted into the magic world, am I eliminated, do I go back home and never speak of it again?" She'd read enough books to know that secret societies tended to do what they could to stay secret, and was ready to go overboard if he tried anything.

While she wasn't sure about the weird kid in her history class, this Meltriarc seemed cut of a different cloth and she wasn't sure what he would do. She hadn't neglected to notice that while there were no cloaked men on the top deck, there were several red stains on the metal.

Her conversation partner and designated answer machine hesitated. "...Kinda."

Turning her head, she brushed red hair behind her ear so she could give him a glare without it getting in the way. "And that means what, exactly? I get why you kept on showing up late, and leaving early, but there's no way I'm leaving you alone after this."

She turned to him, spreading her arms wide to show the scope. "I mean, this is _magic_! The stuff we hear about as kids! It's a world of infinite possibilities, and I'll do everything I can to stay in it."

Wincing, her savior closed his eyes, as if pained. "Yeah. I know."

After that short statement, a thick fog began to coalesce in the air, coating the entire top deck, raising cries of worry and shock from the freed prisoners.

The blonde-haired boy pushed off the guardrail and stepped forward towards her. She instinctively froze up, unable to move. Her plans of going overboard fled in the face of his new presence. It was cold and she wasn't sure how far he'd go. What was he going to do to her? Was he just like those men after all? She was suddenly plagued by the dreams she'd had while held captive, dreams about being used, abused, reduced to nothing more than a slave.

"Trust me, this is better for everyone."

Fingers lightly touched her temples, and Cynthia blanked out, cursing herself for letting her guard down.

S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S

"...Two weeks after the mysterious disappearance of several citizens, the missing citizens were found, alive and safe, inside the Crystal Hotel. There is no sign of how they got there, as the room was cleaned the day before, with no evidence to show anyone had been there previously.

"It seems the disappearances have been linked to a human trafficking ring, well known for kidnapping bystanders and shipping them to America, where they are sold as slaves. The identifying mark is a brand in the shape of multiple interlocking circles on each wrist and ankle of the victims.

"The most mysterious fact is that none of the captured prisoners have any recollection of what happened during the two week period. It seems to be a large blank for all involved. There are currently no signs of the kidnapping ring, but police are on the lookout for any suspicious signs.

"If you see a suspicious character, please call your local police station with any information..."

The sound of he television faded as Chaska pushed his way through the crowd surrounding the store window.

All the channels were displaying the same thing, reporting on the sudden reappearance of the missing citizens, and there wasn't any reason to stand gawking in a crowd when he already knew exactly what happened.

He repressed a snort as he considered that he knew far more than the actual stations, and maybe they should hire him as an informant. It would probably solve a number of crimes around the area. Hiking his backpack farther onto his shoulder, he brushed stray strands of hair out from underneath it as he made his way the few blocks to his home.

It was a small house two story house, big enough for three people, which was all they needed after they moved from their old house in Barrow Creek. It looked almost exactly like the few other houses on the street, white with a green yard. The one difference was the small silver cross hung over the door.

Making his way inside, Chaska dropped his pack to the side of the door, preparing to take off his shoes.

"Yo! Onii-sama!"

Chaska finished slipping his shoes onto a small shelf, before carefully looking up at his sister. "...Hi, Lhendia." He almost didn't dare to ask. "...What's up with the new nickname?"

His sister shrugged and turned back to the stove, stirring something in a large pot. Her short black hair pulled out of the way into a small ponytail. "Saw it on television and figured it worked. It means 'Older Brother,' apparently. So I figured it fit. And besides, it sounds kinda fun."

Dropping into a chair in the adjoining dining area, he restrained the urge to sigh and roll his eyes simultaneously. "Disregarding the fact that you seem to be far too impressionable-"

"Well adjusted! Unlike someone..."

"-You do know that you were born several minutes before me, right? So shouldn't you be using the word for younger brother if anything?"

Lhendia did a weird shudder thing before looking out into nothing with a strange look. "Well yeah, I looked it up, but it always makes me feel like some creepy dude with red eyes."

"Huh?"

She brushed it off and lowered the lid onto the simmering pot. "Yeah, I think I'll stick with what I've got." Suddenly she bent over backwards, holding onto the ridge of the oven with her hands to keep herself from falling, and gave him the biggest pout she could muster while upside-down. "Don't you like it? O~nii~sa~ma~"

Chaska blinked. Twice. Then he got up, picked up his bag, and headed up the stairs. "Don't hurt yourself."

"Meanie!"

As he passed the first landing, he heard a muffled yelp from below, and chuckled to himself. His sister might be a bit of a ditz, but he wouldn't give her up for the world.

In his room, Chaska collapsed on his bed and looked at the ceiling, directly facing a poster declaring "We're all just the heroes of a story in the end. Better make it a good one."

His family had been slightly confused when he put it up shortly after their disastrous vacation last summer, but he felt it was rather poignant, at least in his eyes. Still laying down, he slipped a pencil out of his pocket and began spinning it, twirling it from finger to finger in a never-ending dance.

It didn't really mean anything, but he found it relaxing, and helped keep him grounded. After a short while, he snapped the pencil forwards. It went flying across the room and sunk quivering into a dartboard on the wall next to a bulging bookcase, quivering. Jumping up, he stretched, getting ready to start on his homework. No rest for the wicked, it seemed. He'd already missed school yesterday while rescuing the slavers' ship. And right after a Heretic God a few weeks before, too, not to mention the various beasties popping up regularly.

He restrained the idle voice in the back of his head saying that bad things came in threes.

S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S

Chaska awoke suddenly by the creaking of his door opening. It was the middle of the night, and there should be no reason for a member of his family to come into his room. Tensing, he prepared himself to fight if it came to it. He didn't know what it could be, but he wasn't taking any chances. Sitting up sharply, he found himself looking at his sister who had just come through the door.

"Um… I had a scary dream. Can I sleep here tonight." She stood, shifting from foot to foot, head bowed in embarrassment.

Forcing himself to relax, Chaska shifted to one side of his bed and patted the spot next to him with a smile. "Sure, go ahead. Feel free to talk to me about it if you need to."

Still not looking him in the eyes, Lhendia got into the bed and pulled up the covers past her chin, facing away from him. "Thanks, Chas."

Closing his eyes, he listened to his sister's breaths even out and sink into sleep.

Then his eyes went hard, and he directed a small amount of his power to the hand buried under the blankets.

His sister, obviously feeling something, reacted instantly by trying to move, but in one quick movement Chaska rolled on top of her. One hand holding a misty dagger poised at her throat, the other restraining her struggling arms above her head. His long hair brushing against her chin.

He glared into her surprised purple eyes. "Who are you, and are you a monster pretending to be my sister, or are you possessing her."

Violet eyes widened in shock, before a vicious smirk carved its way onto her face and she stopped struggling. "So you could sense my energy after all?" She looked down at the dagger, then up at where he was pinning her hands. "Oh? So bold, pinning me down already. At least let me prepare my heart first, Onii-sama~"

He pushed the dagger slightly closer, the whirling vapor beginning to dampen her throat, but not close enough to bleed. "You have ten seconds. Talk!"

The smirk didn't falter. "Ah, but your second question is useless. Even if I was impersonating her, wouldn't I still say I was possessing her just to keep you from attacking?"

"Possessing it is then." Clicking his tongue, Chaska dissolved the dagger and formed a tendril of mist firm enough to restrain her arms without difficulty. Substituting it for his hand, he got off of her body, pushing off the bed and heading to the large bookshelf in one corner of his room.

"Oh? So sure then?"

If a monster was trying to impersonate her, they wouldn't have gotten something so simple as her eye color wrong, or point out the flaw in his reasoning. Not that he was going to tell _her_ that. Stooping to the lowest shelf, he began looking for his book on exorcism he had stored there.

His shoulders jumped, and he gave an annoyed look back over his shoulder. "Hey, stop that!"

Still on the bed, his possessed sister had lifted her head up to the mist tendril pinning her hands and was attempting to suck on one end which was frantically attempting to avoid her searching tongue. She turned her attention to him and gave him an innocent pout. "But I'm thirsty, and it _is_ water. Just a little drink?"

Eye twitching, Chaska found the book and immediately flipped to the section on succubi. A moment afterwards, he looked back again. "I said quit it!"

"Just one drink?"

"No!"

Returning to his reading, he only got to the end of the line before his shoulders tensed sharply. She had taken to attempting to stroke the solid mist with her hands, testing how strong it was. If she actually tried drinking it she might be able to drain it away eventually, but with how dense it was it would take hours.

With a wordless growl, he waved one hand and another cord of mist materialized, this one binding her feet and stretching her across the bed, keeping her from... licking her bindings any further.

"Ooh, I know where this is going!" She was wriggling now, though he couldn't tell if it was from fear or something else. "You would not believe what your sister does when-"

A flick of his wrist and a dagger halted itself in midair, the tip just brushing her forehead. Lhendia, or whoever was inside, paused in her motions for a moment, before smirking again. "You know you can't hurt me. Not while I'm _here_ anyways. And I'm not going anywhere."

She seemed to have a sense of fear at least. So if he killed Lhendia, he could kill her too, but that wasn't an option. That did eliminate a few of the immortal ones though, including ghosts or other spirits.

"You know, I could tell you what I am if you're so curious."

Sure. Like he could believe anything she said.

"30-25-31."

Chaska gave up on the book and gave his prisoner a raised eyebrow. "And that's a lie. So how can I trust anything else you say?"

"So you know your sister's measurements? Should I be worried while I am in this body? Oh my, someone save me!" The wriggling resumed.

 _Don't facepalm. Don't facepalm. Stay in control._ "Hardly. You just confirmed it for me." Actually he did know her measurements, since he was impressed into picking up some things for her on occasion. But he knew if he told whoever it was, they wouldn't stop teasing him.

"Liar~ She told you them last month when she needed new clothes."

As Chaska interpreted that, he closed the book in his hands with a loud snap. "How long have you been possessing my sister." His voice had turned dangerous. Her answer could decide how badly he was going to hurt the monster before he killed it.

"I'm not. Me and her are the same person."

Really? She's going the dissociative identity disorder route? He still didn't look back, focusing on not crushing the book in his hands. "If you're a different personality of some kind, why haven't I ever seen you before. There's no way this is the first time you've triggered." Lying wasn't going to get her out of this. And he couldn't believe a word she said anyway.

"Well of course you haven't seen me. I've been hiding." So she had something to hide. Secrets tended to make things worse.

"Why."

"To protect you. And then to protect me."

A fierce surge of anger. His sister had been pushed to the side, discarded like she was unneeded for how long, because this being decided it was _safer_? He used the rage to push down the equally large surge of guilt. How long had this been happening? How long had he been living safely without worries while his sister had been tainted by this thing?

" _Don't._ Make excuses to me. Now what. Kind of thing. Are you."

He could feel her stop wiggling through the misty cords. "I'm hurt! Calling your sister a thing like that?"

She dared to call herself his sister! She was an intruder, a monster! "Answer the question," he gritted out.

The purple-eyed girl's smirk turned positively evil. "Since you asked so _politely_ , I suppose I have no choice." She breathed in. "Hestia, Greek goddess of the hearth, at your _service_." She practically purred the last word, but any innuendo she was trying to make was wasted on Chaska.

As soon as she declared her race, his blood ran cold. Almost before she finished speaking, a multitude of misty knives coalesced into the air, surrounding the bound goddess from every angle, the sharp tips barely pricking her skin through the cotton covering.

A raging torrent of mist had begun to surround the boy, whirling around him like a tornado and whipping his hair around him. With deliberate slowness, his head turned until Hestia was faced with the coldest eyes she had ever seen. A sharp jade that didn't need an excuse to kill her in an instant. There was only one thing protecting her from him, and it was the body she currently resided in. She couldn't help the shudder that ran through her body.

"You had better have a good reason to say that. If you have been a part of her for some time, then you know what that would do to me." His voice was deceptively calm, but if she didn't know better, she would think he was breathing ice with how much killing intent was soaked into the words.

Any of her usual courage and humour fled the moment she saw those eyes. She knew he wouldn't kill his sister, no matter how upset he was, but that didn't keep the frozen green from burning into her soul and filling her with fear.

"I-It's true!" She cursed herself for the stutter, but couldn't find it in her to care too much. She was a goddess, ruler of a people, and had faced down Zeus himself before. But now, this seventeen year boy was frightening her with the promise of death, even though she knew it was hollow.

"I am an incarnation of Hestia; your sister is one form unknowing of me and is present during the day; I am the other side aware of my origins that comes out at night; I cannot access and divine powers and am not a Heretic God closer to a Divine Ancestor; I have not harmed her or the rest of your family in any way and have no intention to; I revealed myself to warn you of an impending calamity; I don't want to die since I would return to the Domain of Immortality as a Heretic God."

She realized she was babbling, spilling her guts on topics she had meant to only reveal after she had built up some trust with him. But all she could concentrate on was the blurred dagger millimetres away from her widened right eye.

The dagger removed itself slightly, but still close enough to be a danger, and Hestia drew in a shaky breath. "You have thirty seconds. Talk."

She did. "Me and your sister are dual parts of the Goddess Hestia. I am the godly older side while your sister is the more human younger sister side. She is unknowing of myself or any part of the supernatural world. I don't have access to any of my abilities but I still retain a rudimentary connection to the Domain of Immortality."

The dagger didn't budge. "The fabric that separates this plane from the Domain is beginning to fray and tear. More and more pressure is being placed upon it from both sides, and if the pressure continues as it has, it will tear.

"This would lead to at least a temporary situation where the Domain and Earth would be on the same plane. Imagine hundreds if not thousands of _Heretic_ Gods" She intentionally emphasized the difference between herself and a normal god. "coming through into our world before the tear is closed. Believe me, I don't want that to happen either. I can finally feel peaceful here, and I don't want to go back."

Finally stopping, she waited with bated breath for his reaction.

With no change in expression, the rushing vortex of mist around his body vanished, as the various daggers and ropes that bound her evaporated instantly. Inwardly breathing a sigh of relief, Hestia rubbed her wrists, just now realizing that the tendrils of mist had tightened enough to give her bruises. Nothing permanent though.

She looked up to see that his head was turned back to the bookcase again. He spoke, his tone now merely chilling instead of frostbite-inducing. "I still don't believe I can trust you, but I have a lot to think about and I trust that you won't hurt my family." He didn't need to be balancing a dagger on his fingertip to make his point. He did it anyway. "I hate you. I hate your kind and you especially, for intruding on this family, no matter how entwined you two are. Leave now before I do something I'll regret."

Hestia couldn't find it in her to doubt his words and left the room without saying another word. She probably could have handled that better.

Back in the room, as the door closed, Chaska finally let go of the energy he had been holding onto, feeling it dissipate throughout his body and into the atmosphere. If what Lhendia's possessor said was true, then he was in for a heap of trouble.

Not only that, but it meant that his sister hadn't been possessed at all. Instead she was a God herself. His sister, which he had sworn to protect and care for above all was one of the being which he had sworn to destroy. And he had never noticed a thing. His feelings were churning wildly, swinging between confusion, panic, and anger.

He walked back over to the window and levered it open, climbing out onto the windowsill. From there he clambered up onto the shingled roof and hugged his legs, gazing up at the stars.

Chaska didn't get much sleep that night.

* * *

End AN: One of the biggest things I'm guessing you'll be confused about is Hestia. Hestia is a character that I've had planned from the beginning of this story. I wanted to have the MC of my story hating Heretic Gods, kinda as a foil to Godou, who's basically perfectly fine with letting them go. But I also wanted to have some kind of interaction between Chaska and Heretic Gods. Solution? A Heretic God he can't kill and has to live with! Literally.

And yeah, Hestia is OOC. I was thinking about Goddesses to use, and considered Hestia. She doesn't get used too often, but is a pretty cool goddess. Then I came up with a line that was in a past scene, and didn't make it into this version that was "My hearth is _always_ warm for you," and immediately fell in love with the idea of a flirty Hestia.

 **BIG NOTE**

This is a big thing and something I will not be backing down on. Hestia will **not** be a part of Chaska's harem. She's basically his sister, or at least one half of her, and honestly sees him as such. She teases him and will flirt, but will never go too far or do anything sexual. No kisses either. Her flirtations are a form of trust, knowing he won't do anything to her since she's basically his sister and are out of boredom, not out of any actual attraction.

 **Big note end**

As for why he went out to rescue the kidnapped people, part of his Campione instincts have declared the city to be his domain. Anyone stealing or kidnapping is taking what is _his_ and he will take it back.

Cynthia WILL be a part of the harem though. I plan to have her regain the lost memories at some point and confront him about it. With really bad timing. Because humor.

As a form of foil for Hestia, Rascal was _not_ planned from the beginning. In fact, he only popped up partway through rewriting this chapter when I decided I wanted Chaska to have somebody to bounce stuff of and just be himself with. I say that, but he's still hiding a lot from Rascal, only revealing his more carefree side.

And yes, there is a reason for his name. I may get to it eventually.

Finally, I have plans for the next action scene/arc, but it may be another chapter or two. I plan to introduce another character in the next chapter and don't want to introduce her and then immediately toss in a Heretic God to maul them.

And if I recall, I'd promised an authority list last chapter, but I ended up changing and altering the authorities rather severely, so I held off on it. I hope that what I have now is good, but I'm on the edge about the second authority as I have been told that if you get multiple authorities from a god, they are parts of a whole, different parts if you will. But here's the current description for his main authority.

[Feth Fiada: Veil of the World]

Effects:  
-Allows the user to summon A fog that can rise up to physically hide himself or others he chooses from enemies.

-The user and whoever he chooses are naturally incapable of being found inside the fog. (He can find them, they just can't find him.) (can be overturned/overruled by another authority)

-Also allows the user to be overlooked very easily and hardly ever seen unless specifically allowed.

-This Authority also allows the user to hide his divinity from people unless they're touching him; even Heretic gods and other Campiones fall victim to this.

-Allows the user to solidify to the mist into weapons to damage enemies or condense it enough to restrain or capture enemies. (Weapons are of divine origin, otherwise normal weapons. May be used without releasing full authority.)

-The mist can get inside the wounds the user causes and possibly deal continuous damage from inside the enemy, along with a burning sensation around the area of the wound the mist enters.

-Feth Fiada has the concept of [Isolation], isolating people from the outside, himself, each other, and possibly even their powers. This includes isolating an Authority from the enemy. (Owner can regain authority after a time, or after Feth Fiada is released.)

Limitation:  
-People with great amounts of magic resistance are immune to the ability of the User to be ignored.

-The weapons formed are limited to melee weapons and are limited in number.

-Gods and Campione captured in condense mist can break free within a few seconds because the mist is not that strong.

-In order to isolate an enemies Authority the user must fulfill a set number of conditions. 1.) Chaska must know the identity of the God, (not their origin or every fact, just their current incarnation) 2.) Chaska must know or at least have an idea on how the Authority he wishes to isolate function or what it does, 3.) Chaska must feel that the Authority is an immediate danger to his Family and/or innocent people. (It's attacking them, or doing something else that puts them in direct danger. Taking over the city wouldn't count. Only activates for innocents when there are large amounts of them.)

And a huge thank you to both battleking and Flagarach for helping me figure out this authority and helping with the rest of the story. They add so much and this story would be much worse without them.


	4. In Which I Meet Someone and Kill Them

AN: Hey hey hey, everyone!

I just barely moved into college, and between missing a bus, getting lost, and waiting outside my dorm for 7 hours, it's been interesting so far. But I still got this chapter all edited up and ready for you guys. Because oh yeah, this is happening.

Shoutout to October Autumn for reminding me that people still enjoy this story, and making sure I worked on it instead of the other dozen or so projects I have.

I also want to mention the amazing Flagarach again. This chapter wasn't betaed by them, after I kinda went off the internet and fanfiction for months last year, but they made this story much better than it would be otherwise, and I really want to thank them for putting up with me when I was being an idiot with plotting or characters.

Side note, if anyone came here from or has read my other fic, it had a pretty tight update schedule, every Monday unless something big happened. With college, classes, and getting a job, plus a thousand other things, this one probably won't be that fast. I'll write when I have free time, but I'm not holding myself to a schedule since I don't want to disappoint me or you guys. So thank you for all your patience, and please stick with this fic as it slowly churns forward.

Warnings: Character death. That's all I'm saying. For anyone who came from my last fic, you know that this is _light_ compared to what may or may not be coming up later.

Disclaimer: I own no part of Campione or any associated... patents? Companies? Whatever, really.

* * *

 _I will confess that my life is easy now. I have power, a family, and everything I need at my fingertips. What the majority of people, especially those who knew me before what many call_ _"the revolution," don't realize is that it wasn't always like this. Vast numbers of old schoolmates would beg for an audience only to ask me for wealth and fortune, like they_ deserved _it simply because they knew me before I became king. Even worse are those who insisted on me_ _"loaning" them one of the women around me. Those usually don't walk out again. What they can't see is that it wasn't easy. It was long nights, hard fights, and days when I honestly thought it would be easier to just end it then, to throw in the towel and walk away. But I didn't. And_ that _is why I am here now._

S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S

By daybreak, Chaska didn't have an answer. Not like it was even possible to have an answer to a situation like that. There's no magical cure for being a god. Actually, death tends to work most of the time, usually delivered my magical methods. That wasn't even in the realm of possibility for this situation, though.

And so Chaska was several hours of sleep poorer and feeling several burdens richer. But something that he had decided during the sleepless night was that he had a new goal. He didn't care if it took a lifetime or a life, he would find a way to erase Hestia from his sister.

The goddess was a parasite, a disease that had infected their family and would be exterminated. Eventually. Somehow.

Some details still needed to be worked out.

But even after the new decision was made there wasn't much point in going back to bed, not when the blonde-haired Campione was still far too riled-up to fall asleep. With nothing else to do, Chaska found himself sluggishly dragging himself into his abandoned classroom nearly an hour before the first hour began, completely missing his usual morning walk with Rascal.

This early in the morning, there was nobody else in the room, leaving the room feeling hollow compared to the constant chatter that it was usually filled with preceding classes. Brushing off the odd feeling, Chaska let his backpack slip off his shoulder and onto the floor with a soft thump and the sound of clanking metal. Without further ado he practically fell into his seat, his head impacting the wood with a groan.

It couldn't hurt to sleep for just a few minutes, right? It wasn't like those accursed devil bears would clamber in through the windows if he relaxed, right? If they did, he wouldn't hesitate the exterminate the fuzzy little demons, vital for the supernatural ecosystem or not.

Chaska drifted off to sleep within seconds, happy thoughts of impaling small furry animals dancing through his head.

S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S

Green eyes flicked open and a pale arm rose on instinct, deflecting whatever was reaching for his head with a loud slap of flesh on flesh. Chaska's head rose next, blinking sluggishly and restraining a yawn as the world around him registered. He could hear the buzz of distant conversation in his ears, but it seemed to fall away almost instantly, a hush coming across the crowd.

He was still in the classroom, not in the forest or on a ghost ship controlled by someone who shouldn't exist. He was in the classroom, so he should be safe. So if he was safe, what was trying to attack him? Eyes still slightly foggy with sleep, Chaska's gaze slowly drifted to the right, where his arm was still raised defensively. And standing just to the side of his desk was Cynthia Delmont, nursing her wrist with a pained wince. The girl seemed different than she used to be, her hair styled into a subdued braid and wearing extra makeup to disguise the dark bags beneath her eyes.

As their eyes connected, green and brown locking for a split second, something glimmered in brown orbs before the girl blinked and took a step back with an apologetic expression, still gripping her wrist with the other hand. "Oh, I'm sorry to disturb you. I just… I wanted to know your name, and I think that class is starting soon."

She… what? His name? But They'd been in the same class for almost a year now. They were even working on a project together. Or well… she was working on it. He'd been rather lax about that as of late, albeit for good reasons.

Either oblivious to or ignoring Chaska's growing confusion, the girl went on, her eyes glancing around the room, to the ceiling, and to the floor. Anywhere but at the person she was talking to. "Well… you might have heard, but I got kidnapped last week." She laughed nervously, and I was taken aback by how _strange_ this girl was acting compared to the confident girl that she had been before. "I was saved by someone, but for _some reason_ , some spots of my memory are confused. The psychologist says it's a natural defense mechanism for dealing with trauma. So I am sorry to intrude, but could I have your name?"

Her memory? Why would…

Oh.

Oh _drop bears_. Note to self. Do not test out new abilities of authorities on classmates or anyone who might know him. Because it might end up messing with their brain and doing something that he didn't want it to. Man, whoever thought that doing something like that was an _idiot!_

Hiding the flinch that threatened to overtake his features, Chaska blinked his eyes clear and relaxed his right hand into a limp wave, instead of the rigid defensive bar that it had been before. "Ah, no problem. I'm Chaska. Chaska Meltriarc."

The girl nodded, already beginning to turn away, before halting and jerking back to her sleepy classmate, as if she had forgotten something. "Chaska? Really? That's a strange name, isn't it? Where did it come from?" By now the silence that had fallen over the classroom had faded, other students returning to their own conversations and concerns, although Chaska could still feel several piercing gazes aimed in his direction.

Biting back the instinctive response to defend his name, the name his mother had given him, Chaska sat up and tried to subtly loosen his muscles, smiling as affably as he could manage. "Well I suppose it is odd, but really, there are-"

His defense was interrupted by Mr. Hoffman briskly walking into the classroom and rapping on the chalkboard twice with a ruler to gain the attention of any who hadn't noticed his brusque entrance. Students immediately clambered to get into their seats, making an effort to seem composed while stepping over other desks or students to reach their own seats as quickly as possible.

Cynthia went with them, not even looking back at Chaska as she was guided to her own seat close to the front of the classroom by a friend and handed a textbook. Leaving Chaska with swallowed words and a sense of mingled regret and annoyance. It would have been so much simpler if she just remembered! Well, daily life things at least. Not whatever happened on the boat.

Stretching his back and missing the feeling of popping vertebrae, Chaska cast away his thoughts on the changed red-haired girl as he rummaged around in his backpack for the textbook. It wasn't his problem anyway, and it was the girl's own fault for following him. She would have to deal with it on her own.

His attention was dragged away from the distraction of finding his textbook beneath empty wrappers and plastic snack bags by the teacher's announcement, loud voice ringing clearly through the entire room. "Now hush up kids, and try to make a good first impression. We've got someone here who paid a lot of money to get into the school without any questions asked, so either shape up or prepare to be sued. You have been warned."

S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S

When Cynthia had walked into the classroom accompanied by someone that swore they were her friend, (did she really have so many of those?) she had felt confused and nervous, like the first day of high school all over again. But it was even worse since these people _did_ know her. And as of yet, she didn't know if that was good or bad.

Her parents mourned about how willful and confident she used to be, referring to who she was at the moment as a "hollow shell," or talking about how they would help her "get fixed" like she was broken somehow. And it was easy to believe that she was, when everything was strange to her, even her own body. But she could try to be the confident person that she had used to be, faint memories of the yesterday that was a year ago.

And so when she noticed the strange sleeping girl in her first classroom, she decided this was a good chance. She could recall a few other classmates names and more was coming back to her as time went on, but she had absolutely no recognition of this person. So she screwed up her courage and stepped forward to talk to the stranger.

What was her reward? She got her hand slapped when she tried to wake up the sleeping beauty, ignored for a short while, and then their eyes connected and the fog cleared away, pulling away and revealing things she hadn't even known were possible. And the nervous Cynthia, unsure of herself or her place in the new strange world disappeared, replaced by the confident Cynthia who knew exactly who she was and exactly what this _arrogant jerk with a god complex had done to her!_

But the middle of a crowded classroom wasn't the place to shout about magic and cults and impossible boys who could find a ship in the middle of the ocean. So she blinked, stepped back, and asked his name, playing up the nervous and unsure act as much as she could, the memory of the actual emotions still fresh in her mind.

It was only when she was seated in her desk and with the back of her head safely facing _Chaska sand-blasting Meltriarc_ that she released the grip on her wrist and let the oxygen-deprived limb collapse to her desk, redness bleeding out of her fingertips and into her palm and arm, although thin white marks remained where her fingers had marked the skin.

She would wait for now. She would wait until he was alone, until he was walking home, until he was in his _own house_ if she had to. But Cynthia Delmont was never one to back down from a fight and she _would_ have answers.

Either that or satisfaction, and Chaska Meltriarc's dead body was sounding i _ncredibly_ satisfying right now.

"Now hush up kids, and try to make a good first impression. We've got someone here who paid a lot of money to get into the school without any questions asked, so either shape up or prepare to be sued. You have been warned."

S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S

Chaska blinked, mindlessly wiping a smudge off the corner of his textbook as he placed it onto his desk. Someone had paid money to get into a school in the "middle-of-nowhere" Australia? And if the point of paying the money was so that no questions would be asked, why would Mr. Hoffman say so, something that would deliberately make the kids ask questions?

He could already hear the level of noise rising in the room, even the person behind Chaska leaning in to whisper "I wonder why they would come _here._ Maybe they have a secret fiancee they're coming to visit?" Really? That's what you're going with?

Turning to look at the person sitting behind him, the unfortunately named Antimony took one look at Chaska's raised eyebrow and leaned back into her chair, grinning sheepishly. "Too far, got it."

From the front of the room, Mr. Hoffman sighed and muttered something about having warned them before speaking up again, his blunt tone quelling the noise. "Whatever, you bunch of hooligans. Ms. Carver, would you care to introduce yourself?"

Ms. Carver? Was that the new student? Chaska followed the teacher's gaze and turned back in his seat to notice for the first time, a previously unnoticed girl sitting at the back of the classroom, arms folded and posture screaming that she didn't care. Murmurs and even one yelp proved that nobody else had seen the girl either.

What was most shocking is how in the world the girl had gone unnoticed with how she looked. The most noticeable thing was her hair, primarily a black that was too deep to be anything but dyed, but with bright purple streaks running through it. The hair looked to be about back length, but it was difficult to tell with how it was piled up on top of her head through either pins, folding, or the most likely option, glue. The end result was a mix between a bird's nest and an explosion.

Gaze drawing down, it was easy to see that the hair represented the girl perfectly. The eyes were highlighted with a dark eyeshadow that made the blue eyes seem even brighter by comparison, while her mouth had a deep red lipstick that looked almost like blood. The clothes were almost tame in comparison, a black shirt with lacy sleeves like spiderwebs and the logo of a band that Chaska didn't recognize on the front. Her hands were covered by leather fingerless gloves, while from what Chaska could make out of the girl's legs and feet, black jeans and black high heeled shoes that gave off a feeling of danger. There was definitely a theme going on.

The girl sat through the class' ogling, a frown on her face and her brow drawn together, clearly unhappy with all the attention. Her arms were folded, but Chaska could see one finger tapping against her thin sleeve, speeding up and slowing down sporadically.

After what felt like minutes of the girl's silence, Mr. Hoffman spoke up again, sounding slightly annoyed this time. "Well, Ms. Carver? We're still waiting for your reply." Ms. Carver's mouth twitched violently, clearly unhappy at being called out, but the girl stood anyway, arms still folded. "Samantha Carver, temporary student. Don't get close to me." With that, she plopped back into her seat without waiting for permission.

Mr. Hoffman let out a brief sigh, but didn't push her attitude, instead handing a packet of papers to the class chair to be handed out to the class and continuing on with the lesson. Heads quickly turned back to the front, not wanting to be caught staring by either the new girl or by the harsh teacher.

Chaska held the position slightly longer. Something about this girl demanded he pay attention. Like something brushing up against the hairs on his arm, a faint touch of something foul, something tainted. As Chaska continued to look, Samantha suddenly twisted her head, meeting his eyes intently. Deep inside those eyes, Chaska saw a glint of something dark. This girl wasn't just angry. She was downright _murderous_.

The Campione slowly turned to face the front of the room, but his mind was still thinking on those eyes. Why would a girl his age be so angry at the world? And was she the cause of the strange feeling? He dismissed the thoughts, brushing them out of his head. It wasn't his problem. He would deal with the girl if he had to, but otherwise he would be happy to ignore her just like she wanted.

S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S

Moments after Mr. Hoffman slammed the binder closed to signify the end of class, students were clustering around Samantha, clamoring with questions and blatantly ignoring her earlier request. Chaska couldn't exactly blame them though, even as he gathered his materials together and slid in the worksheet for the next day. Something about the girl was alluring, like a pandora's box that contained both misery and hope.

"Where are you from?"

"What's up with your hair? It's so cool!"

"Why'd you move here?"

Chaska was perfectly willing to ignore the entire mess, but couldn't resist asking his own question from where he was sitting, a few rows down from the new girl. "How'd you get into the room without people noticing?" For some reason this actually drew the girl's attention, her eyes zeroing in on him and narrowing slightly as she recognized him. She spoke for the first time, having simply ignored her classmates until that point.

"…I used the window. I didn't want to be noticed."

So you climbed through the window? That was way more noticeable! The other students seemed to think the same, since now the clamor of questions was more focused on her actions or athletics instead of her past. Chaska sighed and shouldered his pack, prepared to leave for his next class. Hopefully those who remained would have the good sense to do the same before they got marked late.

Turning away, Chaska had barely taken a step towards the girl when he heard a loud crack from behind himself and a shrill scream. Whirling around, he quickly crafted a mist knife and hid in behind his back, ready to take action if needed.

Within the circle of milling students, Samantha was holding a girl's wrist with one hand, the other hand gripping a thumb that was bent at an angle that a finger simply shouldn't reach. In the silence left behind by stunned and horrified classmates, Samantha said, clearly and without inflection, "Don't touch me." Without another word, she picked up her bag and stood from her seat, the crowd frantically parting to allow her through.

The girl passed Chaska and her gaze lingered on him for a moment before facing forward again. One brave boy out of the bunch shouted out from the front of the crowd, feeling courageous surrounded by his friends. "You can't do something like that! They'll have you expelled!"

Samantha halted in steps for a moment but didn't say anything. The only noise was the muffled sobs of Patricia, the girl with the broken finger as she clutched the injured hand close to her chest. Eventually the new student answered, her voice cold and uncaring. "If they wish to expel me, then I will pay them money until they don't."

Her head turned until the class could see one ice-blue eye surrounded by dark eyeshadow burning back at them. "Don't touch me. Don't talk to me. Don't interfere with me. Follow these rules and I you'll remain unharmed." She didn't have to say what would happen if they didn't follow her rules. She'd already demonstrated.

Samantha left the room without another word, high heels clicking on the floor of the school as she walked away. In the room that she abandoned, there was a flurry of activity as the class chair took control and guided Patricia out to the first aid station.

Chaska carefully let the mist dagger dissipate into the air, feeling a slight chill as small droplets of water collected on his hand. That girl was… dangerous. No normal teenager broke a classmates finger that easily, or threatened her entire classroom into silence afterwards. He would keep an eye on her, that was for sure. And if she ever even _saw_ Lhendia, he would kill her immediately.

Blinking, Chaska let his shoulder slump and let out a low sigh. The nurse wouldn't be in so early in the morning, and since Chaska was technically her assistant, he should go do his job and fix his classmate. Sighing again, Chaska trailed out of the room after his classmates, feeling slightly exasperated. To think, if he'd left just a few seconds earlier, he could have ignored the whole problem. At least this way he'd be able to see how clean the break was. If it was the act of a brutal thug or a trained killer.

S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S

Cynthia wasn't scared of the new girl. She just wasn't self-destructive, that was all. There was no reason to try and argue with the girl who broke Patricia's finger for _touching her hair._ Now Cynthia wasn't a paragon of justice or anything, but she was perfectly aware that intentionally breaking someone's finger was wrong on a level beyond mere violence.

But lashing out or trying to confront the girl wouldn't do anything but get herself injured as well. And Samantha had made it perfectly clear that she was more than willing to bribe whoever it took for her actions to be ignored. It wasn't like the administration was corrupt, per say, but it was hard to find a person that wouldn't look the other way for extra cash. Their tune would probably change if someone actually died, but the point was to get them to notice before it ever reached that point.

So with no way to take out her anger on the interloper, Cynthia instead directed it at her current target. If her long-haired classmate could attack and kill an entire boat of interlopers, why wouldn't he protect her classmate from getting her finger broken? Sure he had splinted the break afterward, but she had _seen_ him sigh before trailing out of the classroom, clearly unhappy about healing someone.

If Cynthia was going to hold anyone responsible for this mess, it was going to be the person who could have prevented it. Luckily for her, she already had plans to "talk" with him anyway. And by talk she meant interrogate him into subservience. Which may or may not go well with a guy who could apparently take out a ship of magical kidnappers by himself.

Mind made up, Cynthia stewed over the morning's events in her other classes, only paying partial attention and passing off any slips as remnants of her odd amnesia. While it wasn't technically true anymore, Cynthia would milk it for all it was worth for the next couple months.

Once classes were technically over for the day, Cynthia quickly mumbled something about being nervous and booked it out of the classroom, hightailing it to the front of the school. She didn't know what it looked like to the students passing her by as they left through the school gate, but Cynthia had the uncomfortable feeling that she looked like a girlfriend waiting for her boyfriend to walk home together. Which was completely off-base, but it only took one person getting the wrong idea to start a whole chain of rumors.

Time passed though, and Cynthia didn't catch a single glimpse of pale blonde hair or shockingly clear green eyes. Eventually the flow of people slowed to a trickle, before it was only the occasional student passing by. And meanwhile, the red-haired girl's anger was steadily burning brighter and brighter. Where in the world was the super-powered dunce!

She was finally forced to admit that the boy had somehow given her the slip. First the jerk had the nerve to mess with her mind, and now he wouldn't even take responsibility? _Fine._ She had threatened to ambush him in his house, and she would follow through with that if she had to.

Spinning around with all the righteous fury of an impassioned female, Cynthia took two steps before realizing that she had no clue where the target of her anger lived. It would be possible to find out in the student records, but it would be risky trying to sneak back into the school at this point, when the teachers would probably be grading papers inside.

Gritting her teeth, Cynthia was forced to admit defeat for the day. Yelling at Chaska would have to wait for another day. Hefting her backpack slightly higher on her shoulder, Cynthia set off down the street towards her own house a few blocks away.

That night, Cynthia's parents had a long worried talk about what at school could have caused their daughter to come back home and shut herself in her room for the rest of the day. Or who this "Chaska" was that she kept threatening to kill.

At least they had their daughter back. Right?

S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S

Standing in front of the pile of rocks shaped into a small hill or burial mound that something inside him was tugging him towards, Chaska was incredibly unamused. He had gotten out of bed and run kilometers for _this?_ Most likely somebody had happened upon some cursed object and buried it out here to try and get rid of it. Well all that Chaska would have to do was exhume the thing and destroy it, then he could go home. Hopefully he'd be back in his warm bed before half an hour was up.

He hadn't really wanted to come in the first place, preferring to actually sleep for once, but whatever this thing was, it was powerful enough that he could feel it from back in Meridian, instead of the empty plains he was in now. Currently he was standing on a wide flat sheet of stone, sand and dirt having been blown off the surface years ago, leaving a vacant area that only made the piled rocks stand out all the more.

Well, he was here now, and there wasn't much to do besides extract the object. Crouching down on one knee, Chaska could feel chill beginning to seep in through the knee of his jeans, conducted from the stone beneath as he began to pull rocks off the pile and toss them to the side, where they clattered loudly before coming to a rest.

It wasn't long before the tired Godslayer reached the goal of his evening excursion, buried at the bottom of the pile. It was long and thin, but widened at the base, with a scent of rust and gunpowder that seemed to seep from the item as he pulled the artifact out and laid it to the side.

Even without the nearly-full moon overhead, Chaska would have been able to determine that the artifact was a gun just from the feel and smell of it. What he wouldn't have guessed is just how old the piece was. The wood was cracked and stained with a variety of liquids, the bands of metal running along the barrel were rusted to the point of disintegration, and the bayonet that was once affixed to the end of the barrel had clearly snapped at some point in time, leaving a scant few centimeters of useless metal attached.

Chaska certainly wasn't an expert on ancient guns, but his guess would put the aged weapon as being hundreds of years old, possibly even before Australia was first settled by convicts sent from Britain. On the surface it seemed to be completely worthless except for sentimental value. But something deep within him, the same place he reached into to access his Campione abilities, was tugging him towards the item in either warning or greed. Something to be destroyed or something to be taken, owned.

But as the blonde-haired boy sank deeper into himself, he could feel something else, almost completely drowned out by the relentless pull of the ancient gun. Something stirred, like ripples on a lake when no pebble had been thrown. It was a disquieting feeling, but by now it was something that Chaska was used to. It was the same feeling he got when facing Drop Bears or vengeful ghosts.

Leaving the musket where it was, Chaska stood up and conjured a wispy cloud in his hands, ready to create a weapon at will. He couldn't sense exactly where the creatures were, but they wouldn't be able to hide forever. He wouldn't even have to search for them. They would come to him.

It didn't take long for the first one to show themselves, a dark-colored skull cap first emerging from a crack in the stone that wasn't nearly big enough for anything besides insects to fit inside it. Immediately following the headwear was an ugly-looking face, with deepset red eyes, long yellowed teeth that didn't entirely stay inside the wide mouth, and long dirty hair that ran past the creatures shoulders.

The creature clambered out of the rock face, revealing that it was barely a meter in height, with a large head making up at least a third of that length, it's only clothing dirty scraps of fabric folded and bound together to make a rudimentary toga that was dirty enough to be practically indistinguishable from the creature's leathery brown skin. The only other features were the pointed iron boots it wore on it's long feet and it's hands, which had curiously long fingers each tipped with a dangerously long fingernail sharp enough to cut flesh. And in one long-fingered hand, it gripped a tall scythe over twice it's diminutive height, the metal blade chipped and stained with something dark, but still sharp enough to gleam in the dim moonlight.

Chaska had done his research after discovering that gods and supernatural creatures were real, but he couldn't recall anything that looked quite like the short man he was currently facing. If anything, it made him thing of goblins, from popular fantasy. Short, ugly, and definitely _not friendly_. The Scythe was enough to tell that much, and the red eyes of evil were just rubbing it in.

The small monster hissed through a mouth cluttered with rectangular yellow teeth, holding it's scythe in front of itself with two hands, ready to attack.

Chaska, clearly recognizing the aggressive stance for what it was, began to release a thin stream of mist from his hands that hovered in the air around him. Opening his arms wide to distribute the mist further and to seem unarmed, he grinned challengingly at the goblin-like creature. "Go ahead then."

The thing hissed again, before dashing forward at speeds that honestly took the Godslayer by surprise, aiming directly for the blonde-haired boy with it's weapon raised high above it's head, before suddenly darting to the left and around Chaska, out of his line of sight.

Feeling the disturbance in the thin cloud of vapor that he had spread around the area, a dagger materialized in Chaska's right hand in time to block a blow from the disproportionately long farming tool as it arced towards his neck, before halting as it met the misty weapon in his hand. Chaska half-turned his head, keeping an eye on the creature.

The goblin growled at him, grimy teeth bared in a patchwork of yellow and white, before letting out some kind of high-pitched scream that made Chaska's ears ring. At the call, a forest of red hats poked their way up from the stone, wriggling out of minuscule cracks or clambering out from behind bushes or rocks that could not have realistically hidden them. Within moments, Chaska was surrounded by almost two dozen of the small creatures.

Chaska _really_ hated nights like this. Mentally sighing, the Campione added five minutes to the time it would take him to return home. Closing his eyes for a second, Chaska breathed in deeply. These creatures were willing to kill. If they had the chance, they would murder Lhendia in a heartbeat. Her dead body stretched out on the floor as the evil creatures danced around it, rejoicing in their kill.

That was all it took. It was all it ever took.

When Chaska's eyes blinked back open, they were cold, furious chips of green ice. Piercing poison prepared to kill. Whatever it took. Dropping into a crouch, Chaska brought a second dagger around behind him, impaling the goblin through the side and carving nearly halfway through the creature in a single swing.

Releasing the dagger that had blocked the blow of the scythe, his now-free hand latched onto the splintery wood of the weapon, and as he stood up again he flipped the blade to face outward and used the momentum to bring his arm around in a sidearm throw that propelled the scythe out in a spinning arc that dismembered two of the small red-hatted men before the scythe faded, along with the goblin behind Chaska, returning to wherever the creatures came from, the only remnant a dark ash that drifted in the wind.

That was enough to send the rest of the mob into a screaming rage, each member hefting their own wicked-looking scythe before charging at Chaska at speeds far beyond the average human, covering meters of ground in a single second.

In the blink of an eye they were on Chaska, a multitude of metal blades aimed at various parts of his body that ranged from the back of the knee to the top of the head and everywhere between. Some of the unwieldy weapons clashed uselessly against each other, halting some attacks while the ones aimed at vital points were either dodged or blocked with a misty dagger. What few could not be avoided bounced harmlessly off Chaska's skin after ripping through his clothing.

Fast the gremlins may be, but their speed wouldn't help them much in close quarters combat. Which, funnily enough, is exactly where almost every member of the group was. Swiftly crouching down onto one knee, Chaska's left hand flashed out and ended a goblin's life while the other hand released the dagger and slammed down onto the ground palm-first, producing a visible cloud of dark mist which immediately latched onto any goblins in a meter radius, all but a few of the more quick-witted ones who had retreated once their first attack was foiled.

Dodging a few more attacks by the pinned goblins, Chaska stepped free of the circle of mist, directing the tendrils behind me to twine up around the trapped creatures necks. Harsh sounds like a carrot snapping in two rang out in the empty night, but were ignored. There was no sound of falling bodies as the corpses dissolved into dark ash.

The five surviving monsters hissed, air whistling through ugly mismatched teeth as they held back, cautiously retreating step by step. Too late. If they wished to survive… well they shouldn't have entered existence. Chaska dashed forward, one hand outstretched as mist coalesced in preparation for a weapon. With a sense of sick amusement, Chaska gripped down on smooth water vapor that stuck to his hand nonetheless, a long sharp scythe forming from the translucent fog.

His first target was the goblin to the left, the closest one. It had the sense to not turn it's back on an angry Godslayer, backpedaling while raising it's own long weapon in a block, the sharp tip aimed to impale Chaska's stomach if he came too close.

The tool of wood and metal was sheared through in a single swing, another step forward bringing Chaska into range for a second strike that shore through the beast with barely a moment of resistance. Turning his attention to the four remaining enemies, Chaska was on the next target in the blink of an eye, a flip of the haft of the misty weapon knocking the defending wood out of the way before a vicious kick separated the goblin from it's weapon, rolling several meters on the ground before a hastily crafted dagger sunk into it's back.

The last three creatures chose to fight, raising their own scythes and screaming what was probably a war cry before charging in. Something pulsed within Chaska, whispering of the dance of blood and death, of dark smiles and bloodshot eyes, of the pounding in his blood that _would not end._ The urge to fight and to kill, not to defend Lhendia, but simply to revel in the power he had over these beings. That they could scream and attack with all their might, but he could kill them at any time.

Chaska pushed it down with an effort of will, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply to center himself. The screaming grew closer and Chaska dropped down low to the ground, grasping his scythe at the very end of the haft as he swung it in an arc with all of his might. The screams cut out suddenly, and Chaska released his weapon, not needing it anymore. Opening his eyes again, all he saw was three clouds of ash drifting down in the breeze.

As the last goblin faded, becoming not-real, Chaska rose up from his crouch and stretched his arms and back, working his body back into usable condition. Which was useless since his new and improved body wasn't even capable of getting cramps or improperly aligned bones. It was a habit that Chaska hadn't quite gotten rid of yet, one that still gave him a weird feeling each time he failed to get a response of something stretching or popping back into place. Really, sometimes being a Campione simply wasn't worth all the trouble.

Giving up on the futile task, Chaska turned back around to what had been buried beneath the pile of stones. The aged musket looked like something that might have been in use hundreds of years before, the stock worn down and the metal tarnished and slightly rusty, although it still gleamed in the moonlight. Would the thing even shoot straight?

But it was definitely the source of the disturbance that had been bothering Chaska, and might even have been what drew the goblin-things in the first place. And it definitely wasn't the kind of thing that a child might place out here by accident. Whoever placed the item here did it intentionally to pull him in. Now the question was whether the mastermind was the type to retreat afterwards, or the type that stuck around to see if it worked.

Something stepped into the cloud of vapor that Chaska had created earlier, giving him his answer. "Well that didn't take long. What a diligent little rogue magician you are." A confident female voice spoke up from behind the Campione. "Honestly, I didn't even have to wait an hour and you were already here. Afraid of something messing up your plan?"

Chaska stayed where he was, facing away from the mysterious voice. Whoever the magician was, they were either incredibly strong or an absolute idiot. They had just seen him destroy dozens of the red-hatted goblins, and they still chose to face him head-on? Perhaps they were relying on his human nature to talk with a fellow human at first.

The stranger kept talking, staying the same distance away while prattling on. "This is exactly why I told those old fools that I didn't need to be inserted for a long-term mission. I mean, you didn't even take _twenty-four hours_ to pin down!" While the female wasted time and breath, Chaska kept quiet, letting a tendril of his authority wriggle down his leg and reach the ground. Exerting his control, he tuned out the girl who was _still talking_ and drew the nearly-invisible strain of mist towards the voice.

Finally turning around, Chaska's eyes widened in surprise for a moment before drooping again. "It's you," he said, cutting off the girl's endless monologue. "Samantha Carver." The moon overhead was enough to illuminate the folded mess of dual-toned hair. The girl's expression was the picture of casual frustration, as if this wasn't anything more than a nighttime stroll.

Samantha shrugged, looking down as one gloved hand picked at the thin embroidered sleeve of the other arm. "And you're the blonde girl who wouldn't stop staring from the single class I attended today."

…Close enough. Chaska shrugged, uncaring. "Sure." Then the outstretched trickle of mist solidified into a spear of hardened material, darting up from the ground and back down, piercing the dark-haired girl through the left foot and into the ground beneath.

The enemy magician girl barely even winced in pain, looking down to assess the damage with a bland tone. "Well that is _incredibly_ rude to do to someone on the first meeting. I don't suppose you would-"

Then Chaska was diving forward with a dagger already in hand, staying low to try and hit the unprotected throat while his other hand reached for the complicated mess of hair to immobilize the girl. He'd seen the broken finger, and while it wasn't a clean break, Samantha had clearly known exactly what she was doing. She was trained, somehow, but Chaska only had to get one clean blow in and she was dead, same as him or anyone else.

Instead, one leather-gloved hand snapped out in a quick moment, redirecting the misty dagger to the side while her other hand grabbed his arm and twisted, attempting to force Chaska into a submission hold. Unfortunately for the girl, Campione were made to resist the attacks of gods, and would not bend so easily beneath a simple application of pressure.

The dagger shook for a moment before reshaping itself into a longer but thinner spike, Chaska drawing the outstretched arm back to him in an attempt to catch the forearm of the opponent. The limb twisted sinuously, dodging the spike of mist before wrapping around his arm and elbow, pulling it against her body to keep it pinned in place.

This left the two combatants with their faces almost touching, tense green eyes staring directly into relaxed blue. "Don't be so hasty, Ms. Magician," Samantha said playfully, even going so far as to give Chaska a wink. "Now why don't you tell your classmate _all_ about how you can use magic without Divine Words?"

Chaska could break free, but there was a better strategy for the moment. The blonde teenager focused on the spear of mist still pinning the girl in place. Following his will, the tendril of mist began to worm into the limb, finding the veins and seeping in, pushing his power and influence through the girl's muscles and up her leg.

"Don't want to talk then?" Samantha said, her voice still cheerfully light for what was going on at the moment. Then she leaned in even closer to whisper into his ear. "I know all about making someone scream." Without any warning, she released his arm not holding a weapon and her fist shot forward, socking him directly in the jaw and forcing his head back from the blow. Simultaneously, her other arm unraveled from his own, pushing him away as the girl bent to the left, her right leg sweeping up in a snap kick that impacted directly on Chaska's solar plexus, something that would have incapacitated any mortal human.

The force of the kick sent Chaska back another few steps with an aching pain in his stomach, directly where the girl had kicked him. Regaining his balance, Chaska created another dagger of mist in his other hand, falling into a crouch while facing his opponent.

Samantha was still holding the same position as when she kicked Chaska, leg outstretched and body bent to her left to retain balance. Her face was different though, the casual expression finally fallen to reveal shock and suspicion. And something that Chaska almost missed, the moonlight reflecting off something in the darkness. A short thin blade protruded from the high heel of Samantha's shoe, pitch black and sharpened into a vicious tip at the end.

Suddenly the possibility of having a bruise didn't seem nearly so bad. Now confident that his opponent didn't have any way to physically hurt him, Chaska was ready to dash back in and go for another flurry of blows. Samantha wouldn't be able to last forever, and while she seemed to be more skilled at close combat than him, he could hurt her while she couldn't do the same in return.

"Wait! Hold on a second!" The dark-haired girl yelled as she returned to a more neutral position, raising her hands in surrender.

Chaska paused, willing to hear her out for the moment. He could still feel his mist working through the girl's body and every pause or effort to stall could only help him. The girl had mentioned some kind of ally, but if they weren't here at the moment, then Chaska would be able to kill Samantha and flee before they would have to arrive. "I'm listening," he answered curtly.

The girl paused, as if she hadn't actually expected him to listen, before folding her arms and tilting her head to the side in thought, finger tapping sporadically on her arm. "Alright, now this is going to sound weird, but how did you know that the musket was here?"

As if Chaska would tell her. That had nothing to do with the current situation and giving out information like that wouldn't help him any. Still, if he didn't answer any of her questions, Samantha might attack and destroy his reason for allowing the intermission in the first place. "This is my land," he said shortly, his only response. Let her think that he had placed sensors in the area, or that he had an information network feeding him information.

The short reply only made the girl smile and nod, as if confirming something to herself. "Ah, I see!" Then she beamed, and clapped her hands together, something sharply at contrast with her overly dark clothing style. "So which Heretic God did you kill?"

She knew. She _knew._

Something snapped and I was lunging forward, a dagger in each hand and a snarl on my face. The enemy seemed surprised, but didn't hesitate in putting up her fists, prepared to guard against my attack. Moments away from the girl, I tightened my hold on the mist infused into her left leg, mentally clenching it into a fist and stiffening each muscle inside the girl's leg.

Startled by her own limb's sudden betrayal, Samantha yelped and barely managed to parry my first strike with the back of her hand before I forcefully relaxed the muscles in her leg, causing it to buckle beneath her.

Chaska released the dagger in his left hand, taking another step forward and placing a hand on Samantha's chest, pushing forward to knock her off balance. The magician fell and Chaska fell with her, the pressure and weight preventing the girl from regaining her balance.

Then her back hit the ground, her head rebounding off the hard stone ground with a loud crack before lying still, dazed eyes staring up at the night sky above. Chaska was still on top of her body, but took no chance of her recovery, bringing his other dagger up and poising it above the girl's exposed throat for a second before plunging it down.

There was a faint hiss of escaping air as Chaska pulled back and let both the dagger and invading tendril of mist dissipate into water vapor, kneeling on the ground next to the dying body. Samantha coughed wetly, once, before attempting to speak, words slipping wetly through numb lips. "So… para-noid," she stopped to couch again, a line of red trickling out of the corner of her mouth as she resumed. "Lone wolves… aren't cool at all…"

A dead woman's final words meant nothing to Chaska, no matter what comfort they might bring her, so he simply straightened up and walked over to the aged musket, stomping down a single time and snapping the gun in half at the trigger, something that would be impossible without his enhanced body.

Immediately, the Campione could feel that the tugging that pulled him to the area had disappeared. The trap, or whatever it was, had both been triggered and defeated. Turning around and stifling a yawn, Chaska tried to remember which way he had entered from. And how was he going to find his way home in the dark?

Behind him, the body finally went quiet, the final mumbling coming to a close as Samantha Carver drew her last breath. An instant later, magical energy began to emanate from the dead girl. Some kind of self-destruct spell primed to go off upon death? Chaska spun around and into a crouch, already conjuring a thin weave of mist between himself and the corpse.

Then the wave of magic was gone, washing over him and disappearing. There was no huge buildup of energy, no explosion, and no sign that anything had happened. It wasn't even a large amount of magic, small enough that if Chaska hadn't already destroyed the musket, he might not have even noticed it in comparison.

But it _had_ happened. He didn't know Samantha that well, but nobody, experienced magician or not, would choose a useless magic to trigger at their death. So the spell had done _something_ , but Chaska had no way of knowing what.

At this point there wasn't anything the Godslayer could do about it. He had no way of finding out what the spell did, just that it hadn't affected him, due to Campione being resistant to magic, a fact he'd found out by chance while attacking the kidnappers boat.

Eventually, Chaska simply rolled his shoulders and unsuccessfully attempted to pop his back again. "Well," he said conversationally to the dead body meters away, "another night, another murder. I'll have committed supernatural genocide in a few years at this rate."

Now if the radio tower was to his left, did that mean he should go straight ahead or turn around…

* * *

End AN: Well, not much to say about this chapter.

We meet Samantha Carver! Before my little hiatus, I had ideas for this character. For one, a different name. Not to mention a different personality, a different look, and different abilities. So this is basically a completely different character. I like her way more though. She's certainly no Erica or Yuri.

Too bad she's dead, huh.

So, Cynthia regains her memory! That's something else that changed from the original version of this chapter, where she wasn't going to _ever_ regain them, instead simply stumbling onto Chaska again by accident. This fits far better though, both with plot elements and with Cynthia's personality.

And we finally see some of the monsters that Chaska has been fighting, along with an action scene at long last! I can't say that there will be a ton of those, since I'm not very confident with them and I tend to prefer character interactions or plot dialogue, but they will pop up every once in a while, in case you enjoy that.

See you guys next chapter!


	5. In Which I Get a Pet Zombie

AN: I will have you know that I wrote over half of this yesterday, as well as editing it. You're welcome.

Alright, we're starting to get into things proper now, and we should be getting a Heretic God fight in the next chapter or two.

And I'm calling out October Autumn for correctly guessing what the pulse of magic was! Have a cyber cookie! I'm guessing it's somewhat predictable, but it wasn't something I'd seen before and I thought it might be fun.

It'll probably be a few more weeks until the next chapter, but hopefully this one tides you over until then! Happy reading!

Warning: Character death again. This will probably be a pretty common one for a while.

Disclaimer: I don't own Campione or anything related and am already butchering the magic system.

* * *

 _Of course, many believed that I had originally set out with the goal of conquering. That like so many of the other devil kings, that I was a man gone mad with power who wanted to force people to kneel at my feet. To be honest, I would gladly give it all up. I desire power, that is true. But I have never wished to be dominant over another person, I simply wished for personal power. The power to protect, the power to fight, I am not quite sure. That does not mean that I am beyond using other people to increase my power and further my goals, as is clearly expressed by my current position. But to me, that kind of power over another person is a responsibility._

S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S

Despite only making it back to the house at three in the morning, Chaska had managed to fall asleep, fueled by his overpowering exhaustion and the need to forget what had happened the night before. Not that the four hours of sleep seemed to help much when the alarm rang the next morning, forcing the sleep-deprived Campione to stagger to his feet and prepare for another day at school.

Pushing open the front door with his shoulder, Chaska hopped down the front steps of the house on one foot while trying to tie the knot on his other shoe. Stumbling as he hit the ground, one last tug of the laces and he was ready to make his way to school. It wasn't something to look forward to, but it was a necessary step to disguise his nightly activities. People might get curious about his tired look, but they wouldn't ask questions, assuming any number of things that couldn't be farther from the truth.

"Yo!"

A cheery voice rang out from next to Chaska, resulting in the surprised teen diving to the side and reflexively releasing a burst of mist from his hands to both cushion his landing and to quickly form into weapons if necessary.

Spinning onto his back and pulling back one leg to use as a possible weapon along with his hands, Chaska stopped short, looking up at a grinning boy with short blonde hair and a backpack slung over one shoulder before slumping and carefully allowing the mist to condense into water droplets on his hands to hide the appearance. "Rascal."

The mischievous boy grinned and bent down, extending a hand to the collapsed Campione. "Can I just say that you look remarkably like a baby koala asking for it's mother?"

With three limbs all sticking out in the air while laying on his back, there was a certain resemblance. Growling lightly, Chaska accepted the hand and let himself be pulled to his feet, hiding a smile beneath a veneer of grouchiness. "Does that make you the momma koala then?"

Rascal immediately dropped the hand, pulling back with a repulsed look on his face. "Woah there, man! That's going a little far." Frowning, he wiped the hand on the front of his long-sleeved shirt. "And why is your hand so wet?"

"What do you mean? Aren't you going to take responsibility?"

"Not when you say it like _that_ I won't!"

Soon the two boys settled down into their regular rhythm of teasing and prodding as they advanced towards the school, passing by the occasional other student and getting odd looks for the peculiar topic of conversation.

"I'm sure you'd be a great mother, Chaska!"

"That's not the kind of thing a guy wants to hear!"

"Yeah, but with your long hair and feminine face, you'd be perfect for the job! Just imagine yourself in an apron."

"Are you saying you're imagining me in an apron?"

"What? No way!"

"So you're saying you won't take responsibility?"

"Take the responsibility for what! All I did was grab onto your suspiciously wet and slippery hand and tug you up!" Rascal paused midstep, a look of dawning horror on his face. "I cannot believe I just said that."

Moving a few paces to the side to avoid a low-hanging tree branch, Chaska switched topics abruptly. "So, you heard about the transfer student, right?"

A testament to their time together, Rascal didn't even hesitate at the complete one-eighty in conversation, snorting and shaking his head. "Hard not to, when it's the only thing the school is talking about. Is it true that she only attended one class and broke a girl's finger?"

Chaska nodded, faking a wince at the thought. "Yeah, that's true. I ended up patching up the injured girl. It's not awful, but she won't be able to take notes or even hold a pencil properly until it heals. She might have ruined Sarah's grades for the rest of the school year."

Rascal shook his head in sympathy, a wince on his face. "That sucks." After a moment's pause, he followed it up with, "Is it true that the transfer student tried to eat the finger after she broke it off?"

"No! Why would-" Chaska caught one look at Rascal's grinning face and rolled his eyes. "No, moron." He adjusted his backpack higher onto his shoulder, ignoring the sound of jangling metal coming from inside it. "Anyway, what do you think of the girl? What are her odds with an attitude like that?"

Shrugging with an oddly blank look on his face, Rascal answered noncommittally. "I dunno. Depends on what happens next."

When his friend looked like that, Chaska knew that was the only answer he was going to get. Simply nodding, he left the topic alone for the time being. He knew the answer, that Samantha wouldn't be a problem anymore, but he didn't want his friend to start poking around into something he shouldn't find. Hopefully Samantha would soon be forgotten after she didn't show up at school for a few weeks.

The silence was eventually broken by Rascal saying the last thing that Chaska was expecting. "Hey Chaska. Are you being abused?"

Chaska halted in his tracks, one shoe skidding slightly on the sidewalk as he turned to face Rascal, one eyebrow raised in skepticism. "Are you serious? Are you of all people asking that?"

His long-time friend simply nodded once, pulling to a stop as well with a serious expression on his face. It was rare that Rascal looked anything close to serious, usually wearing a long-practiced smile of humorous cheer. And if Rascal was serious about this, that meant that he wouldn't let it alone until he got his answer.

Making eye-contact with his only friend, Chaska held the stare as he spoke. "I'm not being abused. The sleepiness and nerves are from something else that's my responsibility." He'd known that the grinning boy would notice the signs, notice that something was wrong, but he hadn't thought he would jump to a conclusion like abuse.

Rascal shrugged, not breaking the stare just yet. "Alright, I'll accept that. You have two months before I force my way into whatever problem you're having. Either fix it by then or be willing to accept my help."

Then he was grinning again like a switch had been flipped. "Come on, what are you standing around for? Class is going to start soon!" Gripping one strap of his backpack, the excitable teen ran off towards the school gates a block away.

Sighing and holding on tighter to his own schoolbag, Chaska took two steps before picking up speed, making sure to keep his running speed to a minimum to avoid blasting through the school gates like Atalanta. "Hold up, you crazy idiot! We still have ten minutes!"

After parting ways with Rascal, Chaska walked into his first classroom, turning first to a desk at the back of the room. It looked someone had poured black paint onto the desk at first, but as the Godslayer approached he could see that it was a barrage of words and insults written in a variety of writing styles.

 _Thug_

 _Go away_

 _You deserve to be shot_

 _Black is a tacky color anyway!_

Normally this would be a sign of bullying, predators tormenting those beneath themselves, but the situation was subtly altered this time. This time it was the prey, crying out in rebellion. It wouldn't make a difference, not after last night, but it was a symbol of defiance.

If Samantha had come back, she wouldn't have been attacked, she wouldn't have been expelled. But she would have found herself ostracized, hassled, and harried in the smallest ways, always anonymously but each one a sign of boldness hidden by the cowardice of hiding in a crowd.

Sitting down at his own untouched desk, Chaska folded his arms on his desk and buried his head in his arms to hide his smirk.

S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S

The final bell rang and Ms. Hartman hastily wrapped up the lesson, raising her voice to be heard over the clamor of students starting up conversations as they grabbed their bags, completely ignoring Ms. Hartman's final words. "I'll expect your poem to be finished by next Wednesday, alright? _Next Wednesday._ "

Scribbling in the last punctuation mark on his worksheet, Chaska dropped his pencil and leaned back, stretching his arms upwards to work out any kinks that weren't there. Really, he needed to break that habit at some point. It was the work of a few moments to slide any stray papers into his bag, but Chaska intentionally hesitated, leaning down with his bag open and the papers in hand as students passed by. People were a lot less likely to think that you were eavesdropping if you looked like you were busy, and there was practically only one thing that people would be gossiping about.

"So did you hear about the old clothing store shutting down?"

"Oh I know! Isn't it just awful? My Mom said that was where she got her wedding dress. She still has it in her closet, too."

"Really? Maybe we could go over and try it on sometime?"

Okay, maybe there were a few people who wouldn't be talking about it. But as the pair of chatting girls passed by, Chaska could pick up a conversation from a few aisles down, two boys who were lingering around for a few moments before heading out of school.

"And she really didn't come?"

"Yeah, didn't you hear? People reckon that they scared the gorilla off. I just think she's too snobbish too show up."

"Yeah yeah, easy to skip class when you can just pay ol' daddy's money to get an A."

Tuning out the conversation, Chaska stood up and slipped on the backpack, having gotten what he wanted. He'd known that Samantha wouldn't have come back to school, but people weren't talking about her being murdered and her corpse left behind in a desert so she hadn't be found yet. There wasn't any way to track it back to Chaska, but he didn't want to take any chances.

Heading out the door to the classroom, Chaska slipped to the left, following the stream of traffic as he slowly engaged Feth Fiada. He could feel it emerge from the depths of… his soul, he assumed, and begin to engulf his insides, embracing them in cold mist and slowly dissolving them until it felt like Chaska was nothing but skin and endless fog.

As the authority slipped into place, a few people turned to regard Chaska before their eyes grew slightly glazed and they looked away, completely disregarding his presence. It wasn't the most powerful use of Feth Fiada, his first authority, but it was certainly one of his favorites. It was always easier to slip through the crowd of students like a ghost than to deal with the awkward stares or accidental brushes of other students. This way, they just avoided him, like the space he took up didn't even exist.

It also made it much easier to do this. Shifting to the side of one hallway, Chaska carefully pried open a window before utilizing his slim frame to slip through with only a slight moment of difficulty. Climbing down onto the ground below, Chaska casually walked over to the large wall bordering the school and, with a slight running start, vaulted the wall, coming down on the other side with an impact that he couldn't even feel.

Whistling a tune that he couldn't remember the name to, Chaska ruminated over his plans for the day as he set off down the road to his house, completely bypassing the press of students around the front gate. He'd finished the required poem during class, he just had to show it to Rascal and then submit it without making any changes. Math wouldn't take too long, but science was frustrating. Chaska made a face as he thought about the "Effect of Sunlight on Plants" experiment waiting at home. In unopened seed packets.

Really, what was the point of doing the experiment when he could tell them what the results were going to be immediately? What was the point of learning it in class if they were going to take _months_ to waste time on it?

Sighing, Chaska tugged lightly at a few strands of hair from his ponytail. It wasn't worth getting upset about, and complaining wasn't going to help. He'd just have to accept the consequences for completely failing to even try and do the assignment. Another F in science, he supposed.

With the academic problems out of the way, that left the supernatural. Samantha was out of the picture and the Drop Bears had _finally_ settled down once he pitted them against the Yara-Ma-Yha-Whos. Hopefully they'd either figure out some kind of equilibrium or wipe each other out.

But Samantha had mentioned some kind of "old fools" before she died. So there was someone else backing her. And he doubted that they would take one of their minions dying very well. Perhaps they didn't know about her death yet, but it was only a matter of time.

Walking up the steps to his house, Chaska sighed. Honestly, he hoped that whoever the "old fools" were, they would leave well enough alone. He really didn't want to have to wipe out an entire organization because they kept pushing about someone who was already dead. Chaska took off his shoes in the entryway, sighing again as he considered the possibility of fighting hundreds of enemy magicians. It would really cut down on his sleep time.

Chaska noted that Lhendia's shoes weren't there yet, so he was the first one home, no surprise with the small shortcut that he took. He could probably study up on some of the supernatural books he had before she came home, then. It was his rotation for dinner, but he could make something quick in less than an hour, so he had plenty of time. Whistling the same tune that had been stuck in his head all day, Chaska opened the door and paused, one foot over the threshold.

Sitting in the center of Chaska's room and flipping through a book about Norse mythology while sipping on a steaming mug of liquid was Samantha Carver. Black and purple hair still folded into the semblance of a porcupine but with a different logo on her black shirt and short black jeans that ended at mid-thigh, revealing long athletic legs. At least her high-heeled shoes were off, lying to the side

The girl that he had _killed last night_ lazily looked up and motioned with her mug. "Yo-"

Before she ever finished the word Chaska was on her, one hand grabbing the hand holding the book and wrenching it out of the way as the other hand, already armed with a dagger of mist, impaled the girl in the throat, just like the last time he had killed her.

Samantha merely blinked before rolling her eyes and carefully placing the mug of liquid down onto the floor next to her as she fell back limply. Moments later she breathed out and didn't breath in again, and the same pulse of magic washing outward from the dead corpse as it had last time.

Cautiously letting go of the body and reminding himself to find a way to get bloodstains out of the carpet, Chaska sat back and thought for the first time since he had entered the room all of five seconds ago. Why had she come back to life? Why was she _here?_ Did she know his name? Did she know about Lhendia? Who else knew?

Taking a deep breath, Chaska tried to push down the adrenaline and panic that had started to overtake him. How she found him was simple. She knew what he looked like, so she found someone who knew the description and where he lived. Any one of the neighbors could have done it, or his father's coworkers, or any of a hundred people in the city. Which meant that she had to know about Lhendia.

Really, it all boiled down to one question. How could he kill her and make sure that she stayed dead.

That question he didn't know the answer to. He supposed that he would have to find out. It might be distasteful, but it was still a better experiment than growing plants. At least this question he didn't already know the answer to. Chaska let out a quiet huff of laughter at the thought of his science teacher discussing about how to find out how best to kill things during a class session. At least he'd pay attention to that lecture.

Sighing, Chaska slowly stood up and headed out of the room to find some cleaning supplies. He really should take care of that before it ran the risk of staining. Maybe he should get a tarp as well, just in case. For future use.

S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S

Chaska's attention was drawn from the book on Norse mythology as the body laying on the floor of his room shuddered, limbs twitching briefly before the chest inflated as the newly reborn body took in a breath.

Carefully noting his page before setting the book down, Chaska reached over and tapped the screen of his phone, pausing the stopwatch that had been running. Just over ten minutes. Not fast enough to be useful in a fight, but enough to be useful in spying missions with severe consequences.

Samantha coughed stale air out of her lungs, rolling over to open her airway and propping herself up on her forearms as she came back to life. Once she had recovered somewhat, she tilted her head to glare at Chaska through her dual-toned hair. "I hate it when I have to do that," she muttered.

Feeling slightly smug, Chaska nodded, his face still and cold. "Then you are perfectly aware that I am capable of putting you through it again and again until I get answers." Manifesting a mist dagger to make his point, Chaska continued. "And I can already think of a few methods that could have more permanent results."

Heaving herself off the floor and flopping onto Chaska's nearby bed, Samantha rolled her eyes with a chuckle. "It's called Osiris' Coffin, and it's a final fallback, or at least it's supposed to be. It separates my soul from my body to save it, and then sends it off until I can make it back."

Without changing her position on the bed, the young magician continued with a slight sing-song tone to her words. "If you wanted to kill me, you just need to separate my body into multiple pieces or completely destroy it beyond repair. I'm sure that you've already considered tying me up underwater or underground and forcing me to die over and over again." She sounded far too casual about her possible permanent destruction and Chaska briefly wondered how many times she had already died in her short life.

"And how do I know that I can believe you," Chaska asked, leaning forward with the incorporeal weapon still in his hand. "Why would you tell me your weakness? Why are you here?"

Samantha reached up to wave a hand in a careless manner before it flopped back down onto her chest. "I can't answer your questions that fast, sorry. You see, I… I want you to like me, and I… thought this would be the best way. Since, you know, you could kill me at any time. Next is the… second question?" She sat up with a slight frown on her blood-red lips, tilting her head to the side as if thinking. "Um… sorry, I meant the third question. Silly me."

Sliding off the bed now that she was somewhat recovered, Samantha wandered over to the mug sitting on the ground by where she had died and lifted it up, taking a sip before scrunching up her nose in distaste. "Urgh, you let it go cold. I _despise_ cold tea. Couldn't you even manage something so simple as retaining the heat of a liquid? Even someone like you should be able to do something that basic." Saying that, she drank it anyway, tipping back the cup until it was almost vertical to get out the last few drops.

Chaska watched with a calculating expression. "You want my protection." It was the only reason that explained why she would reveal her own weakness to him like that, assuming she was telling the truth. Whatever she was running from, she seemed to trust him more than whatever mysterious enemy. And if she was throwing herself on the mercy of someone who had _killed her,_ what kind of monster was her opponent? And would he follow her directly to Lhendia?

Setting down the empty mug, Samantha wiped her mouth with the back of her right hand, giving him a thumbs-up with the left. "Righto, boss!" She slumped down into a cross-legged position with no hesitation, sitting a few feet away from the Godslayer. "Well protection, but mostly job security."

"Job security?" Chaska parroted back, raising an eyebrow speculatively.

The girl sitting across from him nodded decisively, adjusting her legs so that she was kneeling, hands folded demurely on her lap. "Yes, master. If you accept me as your humble servant, I would spend the rest of my life as your most faithful assistant, dedicated to you in every way possible." She capped off the statement with a short bow, locking eyes with Chaska as she raised her head again.

Doing his best to prevent his eyebrow from twitching, Chaska gestured towards Samantha. "And what's up with that? The attitude changes?" If it turned out that she was insane and was running from an asylum, Chaska would toss her back without mercy.

Samantha shrugged casually, leaning forward and tugging slightly on the neckline of her shirt to lower it slightly. "Testing to see which one you like. If I find a speech pattern or attitude that you're into and can maintain it, you'll be more likely to hire me." Her voice dropped into a husky growl as she bent forward onto her hands and knees. "How about this one, big boy? Think you can handle me like this?"

Naturally that was when the door swung open, Lhendia poking her head into the room with a teasing grin on her face. "Oh Chaska~ Someone came to see… you?" She blinked as she took in the situation. A mysterious goth girl she'd never seen before leaning forward in a provocative position while her brother sat back with a stony expression as he tried to hide something behind his back.

A moment passed before a grin split Lhendia's face. "Oh look at that! My big brother's practically got girls throwing themselves at him! I'm so proud!" Then her eyes glinted with mischief as her grin grew even wider. "Or… is this the so-called girls love that I have heard of?"

Samantha hastily sat back and corrected the neckline of her shirt while Chaska dismissed the misty weapon he had been holding behind his back, doing his best to keep the stoic expression and not break down in frustration. He was not a girl, and his sister knew that! It was on his birth certificate for Odin's sake!

Then a furious "What!" erupted from behind Lhendia and the door flew open, a red-haired red-faced amnesiac girl standing in the doorway and staring daggers at the occupants of the room. "What do you think you're doing in plain daylight in the middle of-" Her rant dropped off sharply once her eyes caught sight of Samantha sitting at the table with an innocent expression. " _You._ "

Ah yes. Samantha had broken a girl's finger in school, hadn't she. This really wasn't the best time for more school drama.

Apparently Lhendia took it to mean something else though, as she giggled before pushing Cynthia into the room, the door clipping her sleeve as it closed behind Lhendia. "Have fun, big brother! And don't let your love triangle fall apart~"

Chaska could hear her footsteps as she skipped happily down the hallway, overjoyed with the scene she had just walked into. Really, that girl was far too impressionable. This wasn't one of those drama shows she enjoyed watching so much. Still, he could feel a smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

"What are you doing in your room with someone like _her!_ "

Right. There was still a major problem here. As the hot-blooded girl advanced towards him like a stern mother heading for a disobedient child, Chaska briefly considered just killing her and getting this over with. But she probably had family who would miss her. Not to mention it would be a waste of his time to kill her just barely after saving her life.

"Why in the world would you even talk to an insane hooligan like her anyway? Are you two in cahoots, or are you just twisted enough to be friends with someone who should be in prison for assault!" Cynthia stood over Chaska and glared down at him, her eyes flashing dangerously as she worked herself into a proper fury. At least she was controlled enough that she wasn't physically attacking him.

Eventually reaching the end of her furious tirade aimed at the long-haired boy, she turned towards Samantha, hands on her hips. "And why are _you_ here? Visiting your partner in crime, or are you just desperate enough that you'd go to someone like him for help?"

"Ouch," Chaska stated blandly from behind the raging girl. Really, what did she mean by "someone like him?" There wasn't anything wrong with him, was there? Sure he didn't have many friends and could be a little antisocial at times, but that was a little harsh, wasn't it?

"Shut up, I wasn't talking to you," Cynthia snapped without turning around, not moving an iota of her attention away from the dark girl she was currently talking to. "What kind of deal do you have with him? Is it blackmail? Coercion? Or just two messed up souls happening to find each other like H. P. Lovecraft's version of a romance novel."

"Again, ouch."

"Actually," Samantha interrupted with an annoyed expression on her face, holding up a math textbook that hadn't been there a moment before, "He's tutoring me." Plucking out a pair of spectacles from her sleeve, Samantha placed them on her nose and looked over them at the angry girl, all the picture of a stern schoolteacher if said schoolteacher was also a goth. "And what reason do _you_ have to be here, Ms…" she trailed off, clearly asking for a name.

Cynthia flushed despite herself, put on the back foot by the sudden question and left stammering for an instant. "Uh, Cynthia Delmont." But her fury returned faster than it had first arrived, flaring up and seeming to give the girl an extra few inches of height. "And I'll have you know that I am working on a project with him for social studies! And with the way that you were acting, I'm pretty sure you'd already given up on any kind of learning and had gone straight to boosting your grade."

Samantha arched one dignified eyebrow, not even blinking in the face of the blistering tirade. "Tutors do not give grades, they ensure that you are earning them. Are you sure that you aren't the one in need of assisted studying?"

Her calm answers clearly weren't calming the irate girl down any, her fists clenching open and shut by her sides. "Then what were you doing, leaning over like that? It's clear you were doing _something_ ," Cynthia said derisively.

"Yes," Samantha nodded sagely, pausing for a moment to adjust the glasses on her face. Were those real? Or just a prop? "I was asking for his help."

"Help with what, scratching an _itch?_ " Cynthia scoffed, still looking down on the girl. And why was she acting like this? Cynthia had seen her coldly break a girl's finger just the day before, and now she was some cold teacher's pet? Did she think that her act was fooling anyone?

Sighing heavily, Samantha looked away from Cynthia's burning brown eyes and laid the textbook she had been holding onto the stiff carpet. "Really, why are you acting like this? It wasn't _you_ that I injured, so why do you care?"

The red-haired girl was taken aback, deflating briefly in astonishment before jerking forward almost out of control, her hands stretching out to grab the girl's head, shoulders, neck, and shake her until she cracked and showed a smidge of human decency behind the cold shell of the heartless-

" _Enough._ "

The word wasn't shouted, it was barely even said above normal speaking tones. There was no sudden lowering of temperature, no heavy pressure bearing down onto the occupants of the room, no sudden killing intent. Just a word and the knowledge that disobedience would not be tolerated.

Cynthia stopped short, mouth opening and closing several times before she folded her arms before her chest and slumped down onto the ground with a glare, begrudgingly complying with the unspoken demand.

In comparison, Samantha immediately snapped her attention to the blonde-haired boy, straightening her back to the point of being painfully rigid and flicking the glasses off her face with a quick motion of one hand, slipping them back into her sleeve. "Of course, my liege."

That statement was almost enough to set off another full-volumed rant from the red-haired girl, but a raised hand from Chaska was enough to make her pause, sitting back and stewing on yet another oddity of the strange duo before her. And that was even disregarding the magic.

Chaska leaned forward, rubbing his eyes with one hand and wishing he had managed more than four hours of sleep the previous night. "Right. I don't want either of you two here, but let's handle one problem at a time." Lifting his head back up with a beleaguered expression, Chaska pointed to Cynthia. "Whatever your problem is, it's probably faster. So why are you here?"

Cynthia had planned to confront her classmate about his actions full of fire and brimstone no matter the circumstances, but that had faded somewhat with the presence of the hated transfer student. She might be violent, rude, and the picture perfect example of a teenager gone wrong, but she still didn't deserve to have the truth of magical kidnappers and slavery dumped upon her.

"Well my problem is more complicated than you might think," Cynthia edged, trying to decide how to tell Chaska how to remove the other girl from his room without sounding rude. Actually, she didn't care. A thug who should be in prison didn't deserve manners. "I want to talk to you in private," Cynthia said bluntly, stabbing a finger at the other female in the room. "Get her out of here, and then we'll talk."

Chaska opened his mouth but couldn't manage to get a word out before Samantha interrupted, voice equally blunt. "Not happening, my liege." Her words were respectful, but her tone was steel. "I am not going to leave you alone with a girl who cannot seem to handle herself properly around you." While sounding pretty, Cynthia could hear the underlying message directed at her. _Mine._

"Even if I commanded you to?" Chaska asked with a raised eyebrow, annoyance warring with suspicion inside of him. Why had the girl followed him to his home and what reason did he have to not eliminate her once Cynthia was out of the picture? One quick stab, lock her into a trunk, dump her into the ocean, and problem solved.

Samantha's posture didn't falter, back straight and eyes locked directly onto his. "Not even then. As your servant, I place your wellbeing above anything else, including your own desires."

Chaska stared for a moment, before the corner of his mouth flickered into a smirk for a brief moment. He didn't trust her and was probably still going to kill her, but at least she hadn't backed down into the role of the picture-perfect maid. "Well, I suppose that I won't be able to change your mind then, will I."

Cynthia, unable to take the back-and-forth any further, burst. "What are you talking about? What's with this my liege stuff, and why is she your servant now? Does that mean that she broke Patricia's finger on your orders? What in the name of all that is holy is _wrong with you two?_ "

Turning back to her, Chaska jerked his head towards the third slightly smug member of the group. "That deals with her problem. Now I believe that you were going to tell me something?" Out of the Campione's line of sight, Cynthia could see the statue-like girl break her stiff posture for a brief moment, just long enough to flash a smirk at Cynthia before settling back into her formal pose.

Fine. If both of them wanted to disregard her like that, Cynthia would just give them what they wanted. Eyes flashing, she raised her head slightly to look down upon the two. "I remember that I was kidnapped by people in cloaks and that you saved me. We talked on the deck of a blood-soaked ship."

By the time she had finished, mouth snapping shut like a bear trap, Samantha had gained a glint of interest in her eyes, peeking out of the corner of her eyes to look at Cynthia, while Chaska's face had gone from resigned and frustrated to blank, any sign of emotion shuttered off behind a veil of stone, leaving only cold calculating eyes.

There was silence for a moment before Chaska spoke, a faint echoing quality to his voice that sent a shiver up Cynthia's spine. "What do you want." His tone was flat, uncaring, but Cynthia could feel the danger behind it. She had just awoken the sleeping dragon.

Cynthia had to swallow before she could answer, wetting her dry mouth. "I want answers. I want to understand. I want to be involved." And on the tip of her tongue, barely held back, "I want power." She had been kidnapped for no reason, simply because she had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. And she had been saved for the same reason. She had to make sure that it couldn't happen to anyone else, that they didn't have to rely on the benevolence of a heartless teenager.

The previous night, she had dreamed of being locked in a metal room, orange rings on her wrists and ankles while the room rocked back and forth on the waves of an unknown ocean. But this time, nobody had come to save her.

"And you will not spread the existence of magic, or do anything to jeopardize either mine or your own place in society?" Chaska's words were blunt, yet sharp enough to draw blood.

Cynthia simply nodded, making eye contact and hoping that he could see the determination in her eyes. She would not back down. If he wiped her memory she would come back somehow, and she knew that he could see it as well.

Eventually Chaska looked away, the unnatural stillness to his facial features fading away as he reached up to rub his eyes again, looking for all the world like a normal teenage boy exhausted by homework. Or like a teenage girl, to be more accurate. "Very well then. I suppose that is your choice. But." His voice grew sharp again, and Cynthia could feel her skin grow clammy. "Do not interfere, and do not bring any form of harm upon my sister."

"Your sister?" Cynthia couldn't help but ask, cocking one eyebrow. "You mean the crazy one that thinks you're in a love triangle and skipped off humming?" Did he actually have any other siblings? And where were the parents in the family?

Chaska's shoulders dropped as he let loose a lingering sigh. "Yes. That one." Cynthia couldn't help but giggle slightly at the look of defeat on his face, any trace of the coldblooded killer completely erased.

"So you were the one responsible for eliminating the Hauffbramms then?" Samantha asked with an intrigued tone, breaking her perfect posture to lean forward slightly. "I had heard that their ship returned to the harbor empty of both crew and cargo. Was that you?"

"And why do you care?" Cynthia shot back. "How do you even know their name? Are you involved with them?" Something about this girl really got beneath her skin. Maybe it was how she broke a girl's finger and then acted like she had done nothing wrong the next day. Maybe it was the way that she accepted that Cynthia had been kidnapped and didn't seem to care. Or maybe it was how attached she was to the supernatural killer in the room.

Hedgehog hair gave her a _smirk_ of all things before turning to the male in the room, completely ignoring Cynthia's question. "So since we have the girl out of the way," she said, completely ignoring the girl in question's squawk of denial, "Can we get back to what we were talking about before, Master?"

Chaska lifted his head from his palms and looked at the magician with tired eyes. "Fine, let's just get this over with." Sitting up straight and regaining a portion of the seriousness he had so recently lost, he looked directly into the girl's bright blue eyes. "We were talking about how to kill you."

Cynthia's mouth dropped open, disbelief and horror in her eyes. "You… you can't really…"

Nodding, Samantha matched the expression with equal seriousness. "Right. Your choices are either to scatter my body around so I can't come back together, or to trap me somewhere that I can't get out of before dying again, trapping me in an endless loop of death."

That was more than the fiery-haired girl could take, shooting to her feet in anger and fear. "What are you talking about! This is crazy! Murder? Suicide? Don't you guys have any respect for life!" She was moments away from slamming open the bedroom door and calling the police on these two, supernatural world or not.

Then Samantha burst out laughing, a high pitched giggling that she didn't even try to hide, leaning back and meeting Cynthia's eye with a face of amusement. "I thought you were going to stick around for the supernatural talk, girlie. Too much for you?"

Confusion and suspicion warred within Cynthia, unsure if it was a joke when they had seemed so serious about it a moment before. Looking to Chaska for confirmation of the joke, the long-haired male hadn't changed position or turned to look at her, but the corner of his mouth had turned up into a smile, a clear enough indication of his mood.

Embarrassed, Cynthia stood for a moment longer before sitting down again and folding her arms once more. "Fine, you win," she said mulishly. "But I'm not leaving until the both of you do, so don't try that again."

Chaska raised his hand, voice bland. "I would like to comment that this is my room and I literally live here."

"Until _she_ leaves then," Cynthia snapped, in no mood for games. "Now get on with it."

Chaska's mouth twitched once more before his face fell into the cold mask once more. "Fair enough, we have wasted too much time as it is." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before speaking again. "To be honest though, that actually was what we were talking about before you came in."

"Oh come on!"

Ignoring Cynthia's reaction, Chaska turned to Samantha. "You want my protection, to be affiliated with me. But I need several things from you first." His own green eyes looked into hers, not aggressively but intently. "Who are you running from, who are you affiliated with, why do you want my help specifically, why should I help you, and finally…" Chaska reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black device the size of a thumbnail, placing it onto the table. "Why should I trust you, especially after you planted a recording device in my room."

Samantha looked down at the small black disk for a moment before smiling broadly. "Oh, you found that! That's even better than I'd hoped for! Man, you really are paranoid, aren't you, boss."

Her self-proclaimed boss wasn't smiling back. "Answer the question. I don't need your comments or distractions."

The magician rolled her eyes in aggravation, but spoke up clearly without delaying. "The recording device was plan B, in case this face-to-face meeting didn't go well."

"Plan B?" Cynthia spoke up without thinking, confused about what was going on. Was this a supernatural showdown or a job interview?

Samantha gave the civilian a wink, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper that could still clearly be heard across the room. "The B stands for blackmail." Turning back to the Campione with a smile like she hadn't been planning a federal crime, she continued.

"Honestly, if you hadn't found that it would mean more work from me to protect you from espionage, and also that I could pretend to find it and prove myself invaluable to you in counter-espionage." She shrugged, the same smile still on her face. "And if all else failed, then I could threaten you with revealing your secrets to protect me."

Chaska's face was still blank, but one eyebrow was raised, both impressed and skeptical. "As impressive as your honesty is, you really aren't helping your case any." Seriously, why was this girl so blunt? For someone who was willing to blackmail him, she certainly didn't seem to have any compulsions about telling him so.

Samantha winked but didn't say more, instead turning to a different subject. "You asked who I am affiliated with, and the answer is nobody. I severed all ties with my previous organization this morning in preparation for this meeting."

That seemed to catch Chaska's interest, causing him to lean in closer. "Your previous organization? Who are they and will they be a problem." His tone of voice was very clear about what kind of problem he meant and the steps he would take to solve it.

In comparison, the goth girl was casual, casually waving a hand in dismissal. "Not really. I was a freelancer working with them, so they weren't very attached to me." She made a face like she had smelled burnt rubber. "That was actually how I got this job, actually, so I think that they might have been expecting me to quit anyway."

"And they won't be hunting after you?"

Samantha scoffed, slouching her posture slightly and clearly resisting the urge to stretch out completely on the floor. "Nah, they'll probably be glad to see me go, and trust me, it's mutual. Bunch of old geezers don't know how to have a good time," she grumbled.

Chaska hummed in contemplation, leaning back again. "Then what are you running from. Why would you come to me for protection?" He had killed her less than twenty-four hours ago, and yet she was throwing herself onto his mercy. Why was she so desperate?

Upon hearing the question, Samantha breathed a small mirthless laugh. "Ha. Don't you know?" she asked, a trace of mockery in her voice. "The world's a scary place without anywhere to lay your hide or someone to watch your back. Full of monsters and criminals that would love to get their hands on a defenseless girl like me." Her tone was light and there was a smile on her face, but it was clear that she was speaking from experience.

Even as she kept her mouth closed, Cynthia couldn't help but wonder what had happened to the girl in the past to make the unstable girl she saw now. Cynthia knew that the world wasn't all nice, she'd found out about magic by being kidnapped by slavers after all, but she had parents that cared for her and had a level of stability in her life. She couldn't even imagine what it would be like to lose those, to be completely adrift without any kind of balance.

"Very well, I can accept that," Chaska said, "but why come to me? What makes you seek my protection rather than others? I am only one person, instead of the vast numbers and resources of an official organization."

Samantha blinked in surprise before her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You _do_ know what you are, right? Godslayer, Campione, god among mortals, Epimetheus' offspring, seriously-scary-dudes, continent-killers, devil king, Fate's favoured, idiots, magical behemoths, battle-crazy-maniacs? Those guys?"

Caught by surprise, Cynthia's eyes flickered between Samantha and Chaska as the list went on. Were those all real titles? And why would Chaska be called them? He might be some kind of magical superhero, but he was just a regular high-school student too. He barely missed a day, even if he showed up late and slept through classes. Her expression soured as she realized that virtually the only school-related thing he did miss was the group project sessions with her.

Meanwhile Chaska accepted the tirade with grace and a slightly twitching eyebrow. "Several of those sounded more like an insult."

"Believe it or not, those actually some of the more common titles. Just not to their faces."

Heaving a sigh, Chaska slouched slightly. "I have heard the first two titles previously, each one told to me by a god as I killed it." Each time it had felt more like a curse than a mark of recognition. Godslayer. Was that one that had slain a god, or one that must slay a god? And he had researched Campione to discover the meaning of the word. Champion. But champion of what?

Samantha opened her mouth to speak, but was preempted by Cynthia's screeching tone. "What! You killed a _god_ of all things? How did you even- why would you- what kind of-" she finally gave up and clapped her hands across her mouth before screaming in muffled frustration and confusion.

As tempted as Chaska was to ignore the girl and carry onto more important things, he knew that this was information that she had to know if she was going to be close to him. Turning to her, he waited for her to take a breath before speaking. "Do you remember the Golden Gate Bridge collapse last summer? They said that some of the supports had been worn away and a sudden storm was enough to bring it down."

Without waiting for any sign of confirmation from the redhead, Chaska continued. "A god of the Celtic pantheon appeared and destroyed the bridge. I climbed onto the ship and challenged him to a duel to the death." The long-haired boy shrugged apathetically, as though it was an everyday occurrence. "Clearly, I won."

Cynthia pulled her head from her hands with an expression of sheer disbelief on her face. The insane boy in front of her seemed serious as far as she could tell. Turning to see if Hedgehog Hair realized how insane this all was, she was shocked to see the girl nearly bouncing in place, a large smile on her face.

"Aha! So that _was_ you! Nobody could find a single trace about what happened. The official story is that the Heretic God is still alive somewhere, biding his time. America was in an uproar for months, thinking that a Heretic God was going to appear at any second." The girl seemed to take a sadistic sense of satisfaction at the thought of mages all across the nations shaking in their beds, as though a god was going to appear directly in front of them.

"That doesn't answer the original question though," Chaska said, diverting back to the original topic. "Why are you so intent on coming under my protection instead of an organization."

Samantha returned to seriousness, straightening her posture once again. "Right. The fact is, magicians the world over are terrified of Campione. You are known as the absolute rulers of the magical world and are completely unopposed." She leaned forward, as if to amplify the impact of the next statement. "As far as the world is concerned, a god can wipe out a country, no matter what defenses they have. A Campione, a Godslayer, could destroy a continent. That's what happened to Atlantis."

Cynthia looked on, feeling strangely like an outsider as she heard talk of gods, Campione, and the kind of power that wouldn't be far outside of a comic book. It all sounded strangely surreal, and for a moment Cynthia wondered if she hadn't simply imagined the whole thing, and the duo in front of her was leading on her, that it was all a big lie.

But no, it was all real. Gods were real, there were people who could affect the entire future of the world, and she was sitting in the same as room as one of them. For goodness' sake, she was working on a school project with him!

Chaska nodded, unaware of the inner turmoil that Cynthia was experiencing. "I see. I am unable to do that, however. I can fight monsters and men, but even fighting gods is a struggle and I am practically incapable of wide-scale destruction like you have detailed."

Samantha winked at him, lifting her hands from her lap to wag a finger back and forth conspiratorially. "Perhaps, and that's something that I realized while fighting you as well. But the rest of the world doesn't know that. So long as I'm with you, I don't have to worry about anything like that."

"And that brings us to the most important question," Chaska said with a tone of finality in his voice. "Why I should accept your service. I see no reason to allow you to stay nearby, not when your presence could damage the current state of things."

Smirking, Samantha stretched her arms above her head and stretched, seemingly already confident in her victory. "You need me. You're managing at the moment, but you're stumbling in the dark. You didn't even know how important you are, much less the rest of the world. Care to guess how many other Campione there are?"

Not only could humans kill gods, there were multiple people who could wipe out a city? Cynthia just wanted to crawl under the nearest rock and stay there for the rest of her life. How did the world not know about this kind of stuff if the something like the golden gate bridge collapsing was a regular occurrence?

As hesitant as he was to concede the point, Chaska knew that he was unaware. "Very well, you're right that I don't know much. But I don't think that the knowledge is worth having a stray element loose. I do not plan to interfere with other magical societies, and they do not know of my existence as of yet, so long as you have kept quiet."

Samantha smiled almost pityingly. "A Devil King is called to conflict and conflict calls to the Devil King. You may be staying out of sight for now, but that will not last forever. Already there are rumors of a seventh Campione and eventually you will be discovered. It is not a matter of if, but when. And without knowledge of the magical world you could be easily controlled or manipulated, mist of the gods or not."

Chaska held her gaze but eventually looked away, chuckling slightly. "Manipulated just like now, you mean? I am not naive enough to believe that you are offering all this out of altruistic concern." Ignoring the girl's victorious smirk the Campione stood, stretching and wincing when there was no reaction from his cramped limbs. "Prove yourself useful and I will shelter you.

"Betray me and you will live and die in torment for the rest of your life." In an instant, a wave of mist washed from the boy's sleeves, gathered during the course of the conversation and now shaped into implements of death from a simple stake to a misty polearm, all pointing directly at the dark-haired girl.

Cynthia was frozen, hesitating between fear, awe, and anger. The amount of power that he was displaying was chilling, but he didn't really need to threaten the other girl, did he? "H-Hey," she spoke up uncertainly, inwardly quailing as one poison-green eye turned to face in her direction. "That's g-going too far."

"No, he is correct." It was Samantha who spoke up to the redhead's surprise. The girl stood up from the ground to face the Godslayer in the room, a smile on her face. "A Campione's first responsibility should be to his land, and my liege is displaying that trait perfectly."

She slowly walked forward, apparently uncaring of the numerous bladed weaponry floating before her. "And he must know that I am using him, just as he is using me. A symbiotic relationship is still parasitic by both sides." Ignoring the chilling words, her actions were more unnerving, as the girl stood almost chest to point with a thin sword and simply kept going. "The master will have the dog's loyalty so long as the master feeds him. Isn't that right?"

Cynthia's tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth, eyes wide and unable to look away as she saw the girl that she had been speaking to moments ago impaling herself onto the sharp tip, her stomach churning as the tip pierced the surface of the black shirt, breaking the surface before going deeper.

Then the girl stumbled forward as the resistance disappeared, the sword and the other weapons transforming into clouds of mist that quickly began to dissipate and mix with the air in the room. Chaska was looking away, a careless look on his face. "Don't, you'll get blood on the floor. Besides, what kind of master would I be if I let my dog kill itself?"

Samantha looked up at him with a note of surprise in her eyes before she was all smiles once more, snapping off a salute and ignoring the tear in her shirt that revealed a portion of her bra beneath it. Surprising nobody, it was black. "Yessir! Will do, Sir!"

"Don't call me that."

From her position on the ground, Cynthia didn't know what to feel. Anger, for Chaska's carelessness? Fear for the other girl or for herself? What had happened? She simply didn't understand anymore and the realization that she was in far beyond her depth filled the girl with a sense of numbness.

Casting a look around the room, Chaska sighed and finished vanishing the last traces of mist in the room. "Regardless, you two can show yourselves out. I'm sure that you can find the door, and Lhendia would be happy to help if you get lost."

Samantha recognized the dismissal and practically skipped over to Cynthia, grabbing her arm and yanking her off the ground with strength that her thin pale arms seemed to conceal. "Right! See you tomorrow!" Dragging the other girl behind her, Samantha pulled them both through the door before closing it and leaving her new owner alone with his thoughts. The two girls stood in a moment of silence, the typical household hallway seeming like a sharp contrast to the room of magic and death they had just left.

Samantha broke the silence first, her voice chipper. "Well, that went better than I expected!"

S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S~~~S

"So someone finally found you then?" Hestia was wearing the same clothes as two nights before, that is to say cotton pajamas. She was curled up on Chaska's bed while the Campione in question was seated on the floor nearby, studying a thick book of some sorts. Her question was ignored.

"Hmm, I suppose it was only a matter of time, but it still doesn't make me happy," Hestia pouted, arching her god and looking coyly at Chaska from the corner of her eye. "I wanted to have more time alone with you~"

Chaska said nothing and Hestia frowned at being ignored, sitting up and looking down at her brother. "Come on, is it that hard to accept that I'm here? I'm not the kind of problem that you can ignore and pretend it doesn't exist."

"What do you want from me then," Chaska said coldly without looking away from the back. "I despise your very existence and I will find some way to separate you from Lhendia, one way or another."

Hestia sighed, flopped down onto the bed and slowly oozing off onto the floor. "You're still on that? I told you, we're the same person. Separating me from her would be like ripping apart your own DNA."

When that got no response, the goddess sighed, scooting closer to his position on the floor. "Think of it this way. There are plenty of trinity goddesses with three aspects, right?" Chaska made no sign of answering and Hestia hadn't been expecting him to. "Think of me as one of those. Your sister, the one you're used to, is the Maiden. Innocent and naive, but kind. I am the Mother, the _seductive_ and knowledgeable aspect." She practically purred the word, but still got no reaction. Really, Chaska would be a lot more fun if he was easier to tease.

"What about the third aspect?" Chaska finally asked, still refusing to look away from the book and acknowledge her existence. "The Crone. You don't have a third person stashed away in there, do you?"

Hestia giggled and snuck a little closer. "Well, why don't you try to find out?"

Again, no response. Really, this boy reacted to the strangest things. Holding back a sigh, Hestia pulled back, resting on her hands. "Are you sure about her? The magician girl?"

"No."

"Well that was fast," Hestia muttered, not really expecting anything else.

Chaska closed the book and stood up from the floor, eyes fixed on something in the distance. "I don't trust her, but I need her. I need more power, more weapons, more knowledge." He turned to face the Goddess and she expected his eyes to be filled with greed, with avarice like so many more mortals. Instead, they were clear as glass, absolutely sincere.

"Because I am never letting go of anything again, and I need power to stop those who would take it from me."

He looked away once more, stepping to the large bookshelf to return the volume he had been perusing. Hestia found her voice after a moment, voice subdued. "Why do you think that they will try to take it from you? You're alone here, and your authority hides you from their searches. Couldn't you just live your life in peace?" It hurt to see him like this, too afraid to live.

Chaska didn't turn away from the bookcase, lightly resting one hand against the pages of knowledge collected. Most of it useless, large amounts of it fake. And until today, all that he had. His efforts to build a kingdom, to build a fortress that could never be broken. But even castles could be besieged. "Because they always do." There was a short pause, an underlying tension in the air. "Good night, Hestia."

The goddess silently moved out of the Godslayer's room, looking back to catch one last sight of him before the door closed. "Really, I know what he means, but he should be more thoughtful with his words." the Goddess muttered, turning away. "How can a sister not worry for her little brother after hearing something like that?"

S~~~S~~~INTERLUDE~~~S~~~S

NOTE: This is not meant to be either for or against any kind of religion, these are the opinions of two fictional characters with their own situations and thoughts. No harm or offense was intended.

"Hey, what do you think of God?"

"Hmm? What's this, Chaska? You decided that you need some religion in your life? It's a bit early for a mid-life crisis, isn't it?"

"It's just a question, Rascal. Don't read too far into it."

"I guess I'll bite then. God huh? I guess I don't think too much about the guy, really. I don't know if he's real or not, but it's not like it really matters if I do or not. I mean, he'll exist whether I believe or not, and the world will keep on turning. Maybe I'm just ungrateful if he really does love us all like he's supposed to. I just… It's hard to like the guy when there's stuff in our lives that are messed up beyond repair."

"Rascal, is this about…"

"Nah~ Well, not entirely. That's part of it, but what about natural disasters? Fatal accidents? Thousands of people die each die for almost no reason other than making a stupid mistake or being in the wrong place at the wrong time. If there's someone who can control everything like that, it seems like he should be doing more. Great power, great responsibility and all that. The personal stuff just makes it hurt more."

"…Just say the word and I can do something."

"Yeah, I know, buddy. I'm dealing. What about you? You asked the question, you must have an opinion."

"Actually, I'm not sure. That's why I wanted to ask. There are billions of people who worship god, who dedicate their lives to living his teachings. But do they worship him because he is good, or because he is God?"

"Eh? I'm not sure I get you."

"Let me put it like this. If the world and the human race was created by a being who selfishly wanted to see us squirm like mice in a cage and eventually is going to destroy the universe when it gets bored, would you worship that being?"

"Probably not. I can't think of anyone who would. What's this about?"

"I'm getting there. Why don't we worship people who are great and amazing? Like actresses or kings?"

"Dunno. I guess they're just too human. We can see the imperfections and mistakes, so it's different."

"I guess that's what I'm trying to put together. What it is to be a god, to be worshipped. For the power, for the position, or for the principles?"

"Whoa, man. Getting a little too philosophical for my tastes there. You aren't planning on becoming a god or anything, are you?"

"Nah, that would be way too stressful. I have enough on my plate as it is."

"Ask me and I'll be there, Chaska. That's the deal we made, and I've been waiting years to fulfill my end."

"It isn't like I've upheld my side either, Rascal. I haven't helped at all, and you're still stuck where you were in elementary school."

"Nah, you saved me a long time ago. The old man is just a part of life now."

"It's not over until he's far away from you."

"Two years. By then I'll be out and I can come live with you or something."

"You don't have to wait that long, just come over and-"

"Yeah. I know."

"…alright. I'll see you at lunch?"

"Definitely."

…

…

…

"God, huh?"

* * *

End AN: Well there we have it, the grand reveal! Which... ended up almost anti-climactic in the end.

So both Cynthia and Samantha are brought into things, but we'll have to wait and see what kind of effect they have on our resident Godslayer. Also Rascal is the kind of friend I wish I had, so I may try and slip him in from time to time, like in the above interlude.

Still no real action, but hopefully that will change soon.

What I'm most worried about this chapter is Chaska accepting Samantha. It seems to fast to me, and while he does need her it seems like too much of a one-eighty for me to really feel comfortable with. Still, I couldn't drag it out over multiple chapters and delay everything else either, so I got it over with.

Not much to say this chapter and I'm a little short on time, so I'll wrap this up here. I hope to see you all next chapter!


End file.
